My Dear Daddy
by Lapyx
Summary: ...what actually happened to Percy Weasley? Molly II hated to be in the dark.
1. Chapter 1

My father was not a war hero. He was a loser.

 **.**

 **Back when my sister and I had not learned about the war, we thought of our father as everything we needed in this world.**

We used to call him 'daddy'. I still remembered the way my uncles and aunt making faces when my sister and I called my father 'daddy', - they thought the word was unacceptable. " _It was too childish,"_ they said. _"And it did not match his image",_ as they continually persuaded us many times to change it because that word gave them shivers. _"Did not fit him."_

But for all the objections, every time my sister and I used to call him that, 'daddy' would give us his best smiles.

Daddy was not like the rest of his siblings. Uncles and aunt were very adventurous. They were brave. They fought in the war. They knew how to socialize. They knew sense of humor. They knew how to live. Whereas daddy...

For lack of better word, let's just say that 'daddy' was a very proper person. He worked at the ministry. He was very prim and strict about everything. He was very discipline, and everything must be as he willed it. 'Daddy' was...

 **Boring.** That was the word my uncles used to describe my daddy.

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I have five uncles and one aunt. Daddy was the third oldest. From the stories my grandma told me, he was the one who often babysat the younger siblings during his young age. Daddy was very good at following orders, -in fact, he loved rules. Because rules gave him assurance if anything were to get wrong, he would have the guidelines and answers to everything. And so he stood out like a sore thumb among his siblings the very image of chaotic and rule-breakers.

When my grandma told me of his childhood stories, she always had the face of regret. Because in truth, daddy did not have a childhood at all.

His childhood was during the first war, and he was born to the sound of bomb, and grandma wailing to get away from that place, _and grandpa was nowhere to be found._ They were at war, -with grandma frantically shushing daddy at every minute so he did not cry and in return they would not get discovered.

Grandma was thankful that her two oldest children were at the far away boarding school at that time, and daddy was such a good child. So they went on like that, with grandma finding covers with the rest of her relatives, while grandpa and the others went to war. It was chaotic, and grandma was just thankful that 'daddy' was such a good child.

 **.**

 **Grandma was just thankful that daddy was such a good child.**

But grandma told me daddy was never a child. His childhood was spent on hiding and following what my grandma ordered him to do. He was doing everything needed to stay alive. And he did not have time to play.

When it was time to eat, he ate. When it was time to sleep, he slept. He did not question anything.

Even if he was the only child at time to live among the adults, he did not even question where the rest of the children were. He did not question when he got to play.

Daddy was such a good child.

 **.**

 **But then, the first war ended too soon.**

And soon, grandpa was back. Daddy was four at that time, and he did not recognized grandpa. His brothers were back, and he did not recognize them too. They were laughing when the war was over. They were smiling. Everyone was hugging and feeling grateful and overall just being thankful to be around each other again.

He did not recognize it too. He did not recognize any emotions that they showed during the reunion. Daddy was the odd one who did not recognize that the war was already over. He remained quiet while the rest continued on celebrating. Daddy was such a good child. He did not show any emotions because then the enemy would discover them. Daddy remained quiet.

 **.**

 **They did not know what to make of him.**

Grandpa tried to make him laugh. He bought him toys. He took him to many places. He tried to connect with him. For all his best efforts, daddy still treated him as a stranger.

Daddy's two older brothers did not even bother to play with him. They were busy exploring the new place where the family located after the war. They were also busy catching up with grandma and grandpa. Daddy was a very quiet and behaved child, and they did not know what to make of him.

 **.**

 **So when the news of grandma getting pregnant again came, they were all so happy.**

Grandpa resolved to be a very good father this time. So he bought many things to decorate the new baby's room. He also spent a lot of time with his two oldest sons, who were very similar to him in regard of being so flamboyant and adventurous. Together, they went to fulfil their curiosity of discovering and exploring new world after the war. They went to get to know people, their neighbours, their old friends, their new friends. They went to buy new things for the new beginnings. They went with the war being their past, and looking ahead for the brighter future.

They forgot that they left daddy in the past too.

 **.**

 **Daddy grew up with books as his company.**

At one time during the war, one of grandma's companion took pity on daddy and bought him a book. And then when daddy was feeling lonely, grandma would read him the book.

So grandpa took to effort of buying him more books. Grandma said, the moment grandpa started to read him the book, that was the minute daddy accepted him as a family. He really loved books that he was eager to read them on his own.

So sometimes he asked grandma to teach him how to read.

After a few months, he could read a whole children book, and he proceed to find grandpa. He read to him.

He read to him, and grandpa was so proud of him that he gave daddy a lift so high, daddy could not help but experienced his first true laugh in all four years that he had lived.

Daddy became determined to read more books to grandpa.

Then, the babies came.

It was twins. Grandma gave birth to two sons, -it was a miracle, and treated as a gift to the new beginnings. They were so adorable and seemed to give joy to everyone who saw them. Their eyes twinkled with mischief and they gave infectious laugh to everyone.

Soon, everyone became so busy with the babies. Even grandma, or moreover grandma.

The new school term started soon after that, and daddy's older brothers needed to go back to school.

Grandma did not have enough hands to handle with the new development. Grandpa was busy with job searching. And everybody seemed to forget about daddy.

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	2. Chapter 2

**It was easy to be the forgotten child, when no one even remembered you were there in the first place.**

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There were many photographs in frames inside father's study room. When my sister and I were little, we often wandered off into the room to find him, 'daddy', when he cooped long enough in that solitary place of his.

Sometimes 'daddy' even forgot to eat, and sleep, and about us, about having a life outside of his office.

He was a very busy man. We understood that. Because momma told us he held the second most eminent position in the ministry.

So sometimes when we thought that 'daddy' might forgotten that he need us, we sneaked into his room.

Sometimes we saw that he just stopped doing his work, and instead just staring. Into the many photographs around his office.

 **.**

 **He looks very lonely, and lost.**

That was what we thought. So we tried to distract him as best as we could at that times. Because we were afraid that if he stared into the photographs too long, he might be gotten lost, _and would not come back again._ It was a frightening thought.

Daddy never got mad when we interrupted him, only momma did. Instead, he picked us up onto his lap and started with telling stories of the photographs.

There were many photos of daddy's family side, and I could not help but being transfixed to them. Because there was something strange in daddy's family photos.

 **.**

 **They all had pairs, even though the number of family members was odd.**

Daddy's childhood photos started from when he was four. Grandma hold him in her lap, and he sat there with a small smile. Daddy said, grandpa was busy in a meeting with a group of people, so grandma took the time to shoot a photo by one of their lax company. Grandma held a relieved smile on her face.

There were photos of daddy reading some books or drawing but gradually there were a pair of similar toddlers accompanied him. There was one photo that showed daddy feeding a pair of 2-year-old twins milk bottles.

After that, the twins were often in the pictures where daddy always standing in the middle to avoid them from fighting each other. Then at age seven, with the twins at both his sides, he held a very feisty toddler who spat milk on him and cried with a very ugly face. The twins seemed to enjoy his distress, by the way of their bodies which doubled in laughing.

There were some photos that included daddy's two older brothers, but they were never with him. I wondered why? But from the look of the photographs, they seemed to be very friendly and lively.

At age eight, daddy yet hold another toddler, it was a girl who was tame and fell asleep peacefully in daddy's arms.

 **.**

 **When I grew older and started questioning about my father's childhood, my aunt told me something.**

She actually understood where the feelings of his loneliness came from. Over time, she said, the family began to form pairs.

When they were little, the younger siblings did depending on my father too much. He was the most responsible sibling, more than his two older brothers. He too knew how to organize and handle the situations in the house when someone caused something to happen. He helped around the house because he pitied his parents who needed to work hard to raise his many siblings. There were times when he saw his mother cried because she was so tired of taking care of them. And so, my father decided that he would like to grow up very much, so he could help taking care of his siblings.

He matured too quickly. He had many rules for his siblings. He became strict. He did not know when to get loose and play. He was no fun.

 **.**

 **The younger siblings decided he was no fun and decided to avoid him.**

When they learned to crawl, then walk, and talk, and run, and basically did anything else, they grew independent from him. They were free from his hold.

They said he was an old man trapped in a child's body. He never jokes and did silly things like they did. At first when they were young, they used to listen and followed him because he was the caretaker. They grew up and realized they could listened and followed other siblings who were more like them.

 **.**

 **Like how children should be.**

The two older siblings were always together because there was only one-year difference between them. The twins were inseparable from birth, and the youngest brother and little sister too began to bond overtime.

So that left my father, set aside after being identified as different from the rest of his siblings. He was never a child. He matured too soon.

My father would not have that, of course. So sometimes he took it upon himself to insert into his siblings' lives, by being bossy and stuffy as my aunt told me.

My aunt said my father was trying very hard to be recognized that he had a significant role in the family. He also wanted to be included. _It was just that they were too childish to let him in._

 **.**

 **When they took pictures, the siblings would stand in pairs; older brothers together, the twins inseparable, and the youngest brother and little sister were in the act of either fighting or hugging each other. And my father stood at the side smiling awkwardly; looking like a stranger in a family's photo.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**


	3. Chapter 3

"People taught you about monsters that you should be afraid of. But it is not always monsters that scare you, it is the things that you don't understand. And when the things like that come up to you, you would not know a thing to do. That is when you would become scared. You become lost. You will be confused. And even though 'that thing' is just a simple thing to anyone else, -to you-, it is a _monster_."

.

.

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 **That was a talk that my father gave me, -when I was little-, and refused to sleep alone because my uncles prank me by disguising as monsters in my closet.**

Father, -being a practical man, used logic to soothe me instead of coddling me with lullabies and fairy tales to make me felt better. I used to like his method actually, when father gave me his speeches. Because I could hear the truth in his talks, and it just made me trust him more.

.

 **Until that talks became more 'real', as I grew up, and realized that -my mom, my uncles, my aunt, and my grandparents-, did not talk to me like he did.**

His talks were dry sometimes. Like he lacked any emotions in them. Like he just picked them up from somewhere, and used them when the appropriate time came up. He talked like he had recited it in his head _, -practically organizing sentences and picking the correct words to talk to me-,_ and sometimes they just did not feel natural.

Father, _-my 'daddy',_ when I observed the way he talked to my little sister comparing to the way that my uncles talking to their children, I wondered something. _Does daddy do not 'feel' when he talks?_

I wondered if he already anticipated all the things happening along his lives, and he already prepared some perfect dialogues for them. Because sometimes when listening to his advises, _the warmth feeling was not there._ They were just so practical. Forcing us to think. Forcing us to be matured. Forcing us to be like him. And it made me so confused.

What made 'daddy' so different from uncles and aunt?

 **.**

 **Growing up, whenever I was bored I would barged into my 'daddy's' office. That would be the times when he started to tell me stories. About his childhood memories. About his family. And about first war and second war. I always anticipated the war stories. Because in my head, I imagined him as a hero. After all, he did survive them.**

I used to listen to my uncles' and aunt's stories when we visit grandparents' house for the holidays. I was always feeling guilty when I felt that I liked their storytelling more than my father's. Their stories were vibrant with actions every time I heard them which made me felt alive and was there in their stories. All the hand gestures, all the body languages, all the sound effects, -were all several times much better than daddy's stories. Moreover, daddy's stories always seemed like he just watched the wars from afar. Meanwhile with uncles' and aunt's stories, _they were in there._

Perhaps daddy too, sensed that my sister and I enjoyed his siblings' storytelling more than him, that he became so understanding, _-he gave a smile each time, and withdrew into his study room._

I just thought that daddy was not gifted with storytelling. It was not nothing new, it had been like that since I was a kid. But I was proud because unlike daddy, my uncles and aunt were not too wealthy. They were not as successful as daddy, and did not hold the second most important title in ministry. Only daddy was.

So even though when I visited my grandparents' house and saw how my uncles and aunts joke with their children playfully, engaged in a play of hide and seek with them, walked with their children to the field, talked to them with warmth in their voices. Play a normal role as a father should. Acting as a normal parent-child relationship, I did not feel jealous. No, I did not. Not even when my uncles telling fairy tales to them so they could fell asleep peacefully. Because I had a daddy who would always tell me the truth. I had a daddy who was a hero in wars, and successful in life. And none of what my uncles and aunt did, would ever top that.

So I would often just politely turned my back, and walked to where my daddy was. He would always be in that room, sometimes not doing anything. I just felt like sometimes he just waiting for something. Then as per usual, I climbed into his lap and felt like I had landed into the safest place I would ever be. Like a routine, he stroked my hair. And I fell asleep.

 **A** _ **sanctuary**_ **, my daddy was.**

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It was the summer of my eleventh birthday, when the letter arrived. It was the letter to the exclusive boarding school that all the gifted children went to. Truth be told, I was not the only one special kid, as all my older cousins also went to the same boarding school before me. Even my parents, and their siblings too went to that school.

I ran to show to my momma and daddy the letter. Momma gave me the proud-mom-look. However daddy, - _just looked resigned._ He looked like he already anticipated this to happen, and fearing for the worst. And I wondered why. Was he not proud of me? Was it because it was no accomplishment that I went to the same school as he did? Did he know how crushed I felt when he gave me that look. That night, I wondered why did he looked so sad. What was it that I did wrong?

I lost the hype of entering the boarding school. The morning after, I just felt ashamed to face my father. I did not even know what I did. But I need to get all the books and clothes for the school and so I went to him.

At the end of the day, I realized he did not even once looked at me. I wondered what I did wrong?

 **.**

 **The morning when I boarded the train, -ready to depart to school, I chanced a glance at my father.**

He looked worried and scared. My uncles and aunt and all their children were there too. When my father's eyes clashed with theirs, they seemed to give a signal as if saying ' _I told you so'._ I never saw my daddy looked so terrified like that time. I wondered why he looked like he wanted to hide. Meanwhile, all around them the people seemed to recognize my uncles and aunt. My daddy, they recognized him too, - _but not with awe._ More like with grudging respect, business-like-recognition.

My older cousins seemed like they were ready to burst me a secret. Meanwhile, my daddy looked so scared.

 **.**

 **Why, daddy? There is no monster around you. Just familiar faces.**

When the whistle sounded my daddy's face if possible, _-turning whiter_ , and slowly he turned towards me. He seemed to gather all his courage. He took as deep a breath as he can.

And told me _he loved me._

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **That time, more than anything, I felt like there was a monster looming between us. This is** _ **fear, -**_ **the thing that we did not understand. And if anything, it felt much scarier than my uncles disguising as monsters in my closet.**


	4. Chapter 4

Let it be known that I was a curious child. _Curious I was_ , I prodded. I poked. I prompted the answers from everyone around me. Getting the answers then, was like opening the lid to something unknown inside of me. Like opening the curtains to see the other side of my world.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Maybe that is why they said it is a curse wanting to know what was it inside the Pandora's Box.**

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The first night at my boarding school, we the first years were waiting in the aisle to be sorted into four different houses. The boarding school was a magnificent feat to behold, seeing it by my own eyes seemed to betray all expectations I had of that place which accumulated years from hearing about it from my older family members. To say it was a wonderful place was an understatement because it was more than that. It was magical.

The sorting however, distracted me from my wondering of that place. All my attentions were put in a certain point, when a teacher with a tight bun started to bark orders for first years to get ready. It was time to call names and to decide which houses to put into, -as she unveiled a tall stool and an old hat waiting for everyone's assessment.

I wanted to run away. I didn't want to be here. I watched the stool and the old hat with wide eyes. _'This is it'_ , I thought _'will I be able to live up to my parents' expectations? I already failed daddy though.'_ The excitement I had before seemed to wash away when I reflected back to the morning when my family send me to train station. My daddy, -still had not smiled at me, even when at the last moment when the whistle sounded and the train began to move.

 **.**

 **'** _ **I love you, Molly'**_ **, he had said. Why did that sounded more terrifying than hearing him scolding me? Ah, maybe that's because, -he looked like he wanted to cry when he said that.**

What were you so scared about? What was it you haven't told me, daddy? Were you mad at me? Were you... disappointed in me?

The roll call for the stool and old hat had a long list. As the names were arranged alphabetically, - _and my surname started with letter W-,_ I had times to ponder on my minds and calculating on which houses I would end up with. However when I looked at the long diner tables where all the senior students sat, -anticipating for the new members-, I saw more red headed at one particular table house, and it just made my stomach to clench even more tightly. ' _Please don't make me any more different from them.'_ From the look of their eyes though, they seemed to be rooting for me. All my older cousins, they were so kind. I took courage from the confidence they had in me. But, was I brave enough?

Again, I started my own assessment before the old hat made the decision for me.

 _Sly? Maybe a little bit. I remember when my grandma said I was a clever girl as I often twist my little words to get out of troublesome situations. Maybe I'm a little bit ambitious too. Yes. That's true. I wanna be in the same position as daddy. I want to work in ministry too. But... I don't like 'that house'... They're... my uncles said they are evil... I don't want to be evil..._

 _I don't know about 'this house' though... They said this house only good for hardworking people. Well, I don't like to work hard. I don't like to work at all. Nope. Avoid this house at all cost. This house places a very high value on being a family, they said? Well, I already have a very big family. So nope. Really don't like this house._

 _A house for studious students? An interesting fact. I heard 'they' have their own library inside their common room. I wonder how many books are there. I feel like I want to get into this house. I want to look at all the books. Maybe there are some that are limited edition, and library do not have even a copy of them. Interesting... but really, the only house I want to get into..._

 _...is a house that require courage._

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 **'Will I be in the same house as you were, daddy? Am I brave enough?'**

Suddenly I heard a roar from the house that I was musing at. Looking back at the stool, I understood. _"James Potter."_ Really, I don't understand what's good about him. Why do people always make it a big deal when they heard about his surname? I mean, I get it that Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny were the saviours and all, and I do like them very much. They are indeed big news when you heard about them because _a group of teenagers? Saving the world when they were still children themselves?_ I still couldn't wrap it around my mind about the whole prophecy and the 'chosen one' thing. How the community deemed it was alright to hand over such great possibilities to a group of people just barely out of school to defeat the greatest evil lord in their generation is beyond me. Truly, the time of war was a confusing thing.

However, looking back at the first son of the 'chosen one', I feel sad for Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny. This son is unlike what I heard about Uncle Harry when he was a teenager, neither Aunt Ginny too. This son's behaviour does not reflect the suppose behaviour of the heir of the saviours. And I get it that we are not supposed to compare the children with their parents, it is not fair for the children to hold the same expectations that people generously supply to the parents, but this son, this ' _James Potter',_ really irk me on some level. Probably because he basked in the fame of his surname, knowing that his father is very famous in this community.

On the way to the long table to receive the grant welcoming from the house of brave, he saw me where I was hiding a little bit behind someone's back. He deemed it was his duty to take a tour and give me a bump on the shoulder, "Good luck, Molly!". His 'little bump' was actually a bit rough on my petite figure so I stumbled a little bit. Really, I don't hate him, and I don't think that his action meant to provoke me. But sometimes I wish he was a little down to earth, and perhaps treat me a little bit gentler.

Still don't understand why people praise him for something his parents did, though.

After a little while my name came up. I think it might be my imagination, but I swore I saw some teachers in the high table, and some students sighed and mumbled '... _not another Weasley'._ When I sat on the stool and looked back at the open hall, I understood their concern. " _At this rate, the Weasley clan might take over Hogwarts. Merlin, maybe the wizard community too soon. Hmm... but looking back at how Uncles' business strives, and Uncle Ron, Daddy, and Grandpa working at the front row of the ministry, we might already take over the community. I never acknowledge it before but wow, we do reproduce a l..."_

"Hmm... very analytical mind." _I startled._ "Calm and rational in observing the surrounding." _There was a voice in my head. Where does it comes from? 'Who are you, sir?' The voice chuckled. It was eerie to hear an old man's voice in your head, moreover if it chucked. A shiver went down my back._ "My, who is me is of no importance. What important here, young lady, is where to sort you. Tell me, are you interested in understanding the world? Are you interested in learning new knowledge?"

 _'I...' I tried to open my mouth to answer and was shocked to realize all this while I was conversing with him telepathically. 'How do I do that?'_ "Hmm? Do what?" _Without any restrain I recklessly attacked. 'How do we talk telepathically? Do you have a seal in the inside that allow you to explore people' minds? What branch of magic are you? No, more importantly is, who made you? Did you exist from the very start of Hogwarts's history? How are you sentient? Do you have a soul? Are you previously a wizard? Were you cursed. Are you immortal...?!'. But soon I was chided._ "Calm down young lady..."

 _And even though I knew that I was conversing telepathically, my breath was heavy as if I just spewed thousand words. The chide did nothing to stop my curiosity though. 'What are you?' I whispered into my mind._

"My, the curiosity sure is abundant in this young lady and so this settled it..." _'... wait, what?'_

"... RAVENCLAW!"

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	5. Chapter 5

_"It's alright Molly, if you're passionate about something. I know you are a curious girl, and you would do anything to satisfy your inquiries. Just know that it's okay to ask for help, and then, chase your dream."_

 _"But daddy, isn't nightmare a dream too?"_

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Often times when I became aware that I was having a bad dream, I couldn't remember when it actually began. When did the bad dream started, and the nice dream ended?**

It felt surreal, even after several minutes had passed after that declaration of...

" ... _RAVENCLAW!"_

no.

 _Must be wrong._ I decided while cold sweat began to form on my forehead. Unaware of the predicament in my heart, the people in the hall progress as per usual. Claps were given. Voices of encouragements were loud.

A look of acceptance from one particular table ( _which some behave like it was nothing spectacular welcoming a new member to their house. Though I think, I agree)_ warred with some sighs and moans of disappointment from the house of brave ( _which received glares in response)_.

The house which valued knowledge above everything... the house that encouraged curiosity...

 _"Sir Hat, please don't do this. I'm not ready when you announced it. I'm actually not that fond of knowledge. I'm instead, is a br...",_ my conversation however was cut short as the Hat was suddenly removed from me.

"Miss Weasley, you may go to your house now. Come on."

Unwillingly, I started to move.

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 **Sometimes in the beginning of bad dreams, I could see scenes that resembled my desires. Desires that I suppressed in real life because I knew that it would not come true, became alive in the world that I created in my mind during sleeps.**

The letter came. From my daddy.

I thought it would be further disappointment from him when I did not manage to enter the house expected for a Weasley. I could not believe it when instead, he sent a long letter of praises and encouragement for me. Said that he was proud his girl pride knowledge like her momma.

And I was glad. Not that I was disappointed to be in the house of my mother's, but I was glad that he sent a letter to me. He acknowledged me back. So I was glad.

With my spirit sprang back to positive state, I felt a sense of vigour to explore the library in the common room at maximum speed. The day when I received my verdict _(from a hat)_ until now, I spent in a blur and languid spirit due to my older cousins continually giving me ( _supposed)_ encouragements and sympathies.

They just further proving of the fact that I was the only Weasley separated from the clan. The rest of my house mates meanwhile, could not care less about the new members. So us, the first years spent the early days surviving and finding the correct classroom in all magical castle by ourselves ( _and some kind prefects)._

The Ravenclaws were not bad. No. They just found that time was essential and best spend on learning something than to help each other out. Great.

Fortunately, they also considered that it was their duty to share stories and knowledge whenever they found something interesting in the book. As it was, the first time I tried to reach a book about the History of Wizarding world, a senior stopped my hand and with a twinkling eyes hand me over a book in her hand instead.

She said that the content in the book was much detailed than the book that I was about to grab. I was not so sure why she approached me in the first place, more so when she continued to follow me to the reading corner.

"I think this book is better because it tells the events in detail. It might be little bit thick, but it is the new print. It included every detail about the people in history." I was a little bit surprised to hear that she willing to speak to me when normally Ravenclaws prefer to search for new book after they were done with one.

Some Ravenclaws were shushing at us for making noise, so she grabbed me to a more secluded place. "Excuse me, but I would like to..."

"So it included every details about people in history", she repeated. I was beginning to doubt about the 'fortunate thing' of Ravenclaws that like to share knowledge. "... it tells the history of wars, even more about the second war." I felt my interest piqued. "Your point is...?"

"Tell me Weasley, what did your father tell you about the war?", I could not comprehend the reason why did this senior felt it was a need to ask me in particular when there were older Weasleys before me that would readily giving answers when ask.

"Surely you must have heard it from Rose Weasley or Fred Weasley already? They were in third years..." but I was cut short. "If it was about their parents' heroic deeds I had heard a lot"... wow, they must be bragging a lot then.

"No... what I want to know is, what did the Deputy Minister do during the war."

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 _ **Tell me daddy, what did you do during the war?**_

 _With a gentle hand stroking my head, my daddy hummed a little bit. "What I did, dear?", he smiled softly. "Well, a lot. A lot actually." He sighed._

 _"Really? Like what?", he seemed like he would like to start spilling everything, but it was held back in his throat. His eyes turned glassy for a sec that I was sure I was just imagining it. Then he seemed to take a long breath and letting it out, he looked me in the eyes. "A lot." He repeated._

 _But I did not understand. What did he mean by a lot? Did it mean that he had to fight a lot of evil people or he just went to a lot of missions? I could not understand his meaning. My daddy let out a soft chuckle at my confused expression. "Someday my dear, I will tell you everything."_

 _I felt dissatisfied when knowing my simple question did not warrant an answer, "Why not now?", and was replied by a soft shaking of head. His hand continued to stroke my head gently. "Just know that what I did, I did it out of my judgement of what is right at that moments. What I did..." again, the glassy look returned to his eyes "... I did it to protect."_

 _._

"Why do you want to know?", and if she saw that I was irritated by the whole situation, she chose to ignore it.

"I just found that it was scarcely few about him in the history books, while there were a lot stories about your other uncles and aunt. So I just wonder what about him, the only Weasley that hardly did anything during the war, yet placed as the Deputy Minister?"

Hardly did anything? Sure, daddy did not tell me a lot, but I was just going to find it out in history books and anywhere else but... "I don't know. Hard-work and talent, maybe?" finally sensing that I was a tad bit irritated by the question, she backed off.

"It was just a question, Weasley. I was curious, _am_ curios actually. I just want to know and it is alright, right? Maybe you could enlighten me something about his deeds? Because you know, for a time of chaos, and your father managing to stay in the ministry despite Death Eaters lurking around, and co-workers being murdered and resigned here and there, and... _what did your father do actually?_ To manage to stay so long until securing the Deputy Ministry seat himself, at a very young age nonetheless! Don't get me wrong, Weasley, I am actually impressed. And I just want to know."

Hearing about it from someone's else mouth felt like an influx of information suddenly flooding into my head. I knew about all that facts already, but somehow what she said amazed me. Daddy, what did you do?

.

.

 ** _"What indeed must you do when your dream turned into a nightmare, hmm? I wonder, Molly."_**


	6. Chapter 6

_**When the leader of the enemy is defeated, their foes may feel glad that the war may be declared over. When the truth is, it is far from over."**_

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _It was finally quiet down. The last of his subordinates was gone now, and nobody felt particularly cared to see what he'd been doing in his office for all day long not coming out even during break. But the man's shoulder slumped down, the last of his tension fell off; he dug the heels of his hands onto his eyes, and let out a sigh..._

 _Another tiring day._

 _Another day busy with sorting out documents and answering letters. But he could not be relaxing, could not let his guard down. And he was correct in assuming back into his alert state, when the office was suddenly graced by the sound of 'Crack!'._

 _A person with a black robe covering from his/her neck until the ankles, wearing all dark gears together with a hood and a mask that covered the person's identity; began to nod stiffly to that man. He sighed again... "Code?" he asked with a tired voice._

 _His question was replied when the person raised his/her wand, and let out a spark. "Blue. Understood." Again, the person gave a stiff nod without betraying anything else. With the wand in his/her hand, the person disappeared as swiftly as he/she came; with the sound of crack._

 _The man quickly opening his drawer and pushed around the things inside it until he found what he'd been looking for. He pointed the tip of his want to a small circle (that might be identified as a small indent in the wood) and muttered a specific spell. The circle came alive with a dimmed yellowish light and expanding to form a small magic rune. The man passed his hand through the rune; and after grabbing anything necessary, pulled out his hand (and the rune automatically disappeared) readied himself, and Disapparated._

 _'Crack!'_

 _._

 **The name of the Saviours will remained loud until this day. But people barely remembered the names of their supporters.**

"Hello Roxanne." "Why, if it isn't dear Molly. (" _The rest of us are here too! Greet us too, Molly!" "Hey, Molly!")"_ with a little wave of dismiss that Roxanne gave to some red-heads who spoke (" _Dammit, Roxanne."_ ), she continued, "Nice to see that you're finally back to the world of living," teased Roxanne Weasley a fifth-year student; my older cousin, sister of Fred Weasley.

"So why are you here at the Gryffindor table instead of Ravenclaw's?" she arched an eyebrow, and continue on feeding herself to a pumpkin soup. "Is it wrong to eat breakfast with my dear cousins?" I replied. "Nice to see you're finally come to your senses to grace us with your being and acknowledge that us the rest of your family members are here too. Though I must say, it took you some times, my dear," she countered.

"Well, all the magic stairs confused me a lot so I got lost in the way of life. Sorry," I gave her a look that indicated that I was anything but sorry. After a while, Roxanne turned her face to look at me fully, "What is it?"

Suddenly given a full attention from the person I seek out, I paused a little bit to gather my thought. I let out a small voice, "Roxanne, can you tell me about the war...?" and at that question, Roxanne's eyes lit up a little bit.

"Sure Molly... I will tell you what you need to know. Let's find a free time on both of our schedules, shall we? And after that, a secluded place in the library for our discussion?"

And we ended our conversation with her giving me a knowing smile ( _"Hey Molly, it's me Hugo. Your cousin too!"),_ and I gave a small nod before returning to my table ( _"Yeah, I'm fine Molly! Thanks for asking!")_

 _._

 **And when they did remember, they question about the supporters' actions as if needing further prove that they were at the sides of the Saviours.**

When things seemed to settle down after a few days, my roommates started to remember that I was in fact, a member of Weasley clan.

"I heard a lot about them. My mother always tells me about them when she talked about Harry Potter.", acknowledging that I had heard this conversation a lot of time on the way to Hogwarts, I just gave my roommate, Ali Tuft a look of encouragement to continue.

"I heard about the swamp on the fifth floor," Evangeline Orpington entered our conversation.

"Yeah, the swamp! It was genius! A portable swamp that released a large-scale flood on the fifth floor on the way to the office," Ali somehow became much excited about this topic.

"I heard it was left as a small patch on the floor now," Evangeline said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Yeah, but once upon a time during the reign of evil executor from hell, Umbridge that work was brilliant! I don't know how they managed to create a mini natural disaster inside the walls of magic castle, but if it was not pure talent, I don't know what it was."

Then closing her book and coming closer to sit on my bed, Hamelda Jorkins gave us a piece of her mind, "they were also the same geniuses who opened Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. I must say Molly, your uncles might not have the best results in academics. But the things that they did were beyond what a normal wizard or witch would think of. I wondered about how their minds work sometimes. If given a proper education that cater to their talents, they might be much more than what they could do now."

However I must say that I opposed to that notion, "They already received enough attention as it is, Hamelda."

I heard she mumbled, "Yeah, but if only that the education system here give more freedom to students to explore more branches of magic.. and let them to experiment by mixing several elements of magic together.. while being supervised of course.. and this is why there are no new magic being born, because we always follow the same system.. you see, I don't think I agree with the current policy of OW..." but Evangeline quickly intervened, "I'm just glad they were born." followed by Ali who just gave a deep sigh, "Amen to that."

While Hamelda contemplating about the past system of Hogwarts that seemed slowly evaporated and replaced by a new standard that appeared to be much rigid and hindering students' pure talents, and Evangeline lost in her mind of adoration to the twins, Ali continued, "Sorry for the lost though. Ahh.. Fred Weasley. I heard about how he fared during the fight at the Hogwarts. A brave man, he was. He saved your father." ...

 _... he did?_

My roommates did not seemed to realize that I stiffened my posture, as Ali continued, "... it just amazed me that even at the last moment, he thought about saving his own brother instead of himself. He really was a Gryffindor," Ali Tuft gave out a soft admiration sigh and Evangeline carried on, "Yeah. The Weasley twins, they both did great during the war. I heard they supplied their magic creations to get some information and thwart off some spies...", she paused for a little bit, and said in a whisper "they were in secret organization, weren't they?"

Coming out of her stupor, Hamelda Jorkins questioned, " _Secret?_ What do you mean by _secret?_ " she scoffed.

"Order of the Phoenix is hardly a secret. Everybody knew about them."

Correcting her posture, she continued, "It was just that it was time of war, and people realized it was best to be oblivious to be avoid being killed. Too many people were tortured for information you know..." it was then that her facial seemed to age a little bit.

"My mother talked about my aunt you know. She worked in the ministry, and she was a little bit too close to the information that the Dark Lord needed for the war. She knew about the Order of Phoenix..." at this, she glanced at me.

"One day, she disappeared without a trace. Nobody knew what happened. But my mother told me it was a lie." and she leaned in as if to whisper a conspiracy,

" _Everybody knew about what actually happened. Everybody knew what made it happened. But they kept quiet and pretending ignorance..."_

A moment passed as she let us soak in the information. And again she sighed, "It was their last hope. _Order of the Phoenix._ If it took only several people to die while the rest pretended that the organization never exist, then they would gladly take that chance for a last hope to live. An organization with Professor Dumbledore as their leader to actually end the nightmare they faced."

"And Harry Potter was in it. He was the chosen one," Evangeline Orpington supplied.

But I had a nagging thought in my mind, "You do realize that the ' _Chosen One'_ was only seventeen at the time, right? How could everyone be oblivious to that fact and hand over the fate of wizarding world to a mere tee..."

"You didn't hear me, Molly," Hamelde levelled me a stare.

"They knew. Of course they knew, and that was why he had been ridiculed many times during his times fighting the Dark Lord ( _"You could always say Voldemort, you know." "Shh, Ali.")_ "You thought that didn't dishearten his spirit? You thought that didn't discourage anybody's hope to see the light after the dark times? You thought that everybody would just accept a child fighting a force that even them could not defeat?"

At the sight of me shaking my head a little bit at the look of maturity of an eleven-years-old girl in front of me, the Jorkins girl smiled. "Harry Potter had the history of defeating the Dark Lord once where no one else managed to accomplish. The scar on his forehead was the symbol of that encounter, a _'Hope'_. Now if they saw left and right people around them being murdered and disappeared without a trace, and they saw in front them a Dark Lord waiting to assess whether they were true blood wizard and tortured them if they were not, and behind them Death Eaters waiting to play with their minds and bodies to satisfy their little sick games; what choice do you think they had? At least there was a history that once upon a time, the Dark Lord was defeated, and they grasped at that prophecy. They chose to be blind to the fact that a group of teenagers were fighting the war for them because they knew, the Dark Lord _could be_ defeated, -albeit at the hands of _a child._ And Professor Dumbledore understood this."

"I do understand that, you know." I said after several minutes keeping silence, but Hamelda gave me a small smile and offered a statement, "and he knew that Weasley family was loyal to him."

 _If anything_ , the Ravenclaws were quick on thinking, - as the young Tuft seemed to catch up, "...and they already fought with him during the first war." in which Evangeline proceeded "yes... and this gave them the credibility to fight with him during the second war. He knew they were trustworthy. The Weasley family would do everything he asks for and that's why they became the main supporters of the organization." She paused, "the whole Weasley family were virtually halves of the members of the organization," and as if she came to a sudden realization, Orpington girl declared, "And Harry Potter was practically adopted into the family!"

Understanding seemed to dawn on me of the implication of her statement, that Professor Dumbledore, - _the Professor Dumbledore_ understood about my clan's level of loyalty to him.

As well as how important it was for young Harry Potter to play his role in the prophecy. I heard Ali whispered, "He was an orphan...", and I contemplating if maybe Professor Dumbledore knew he needed to secure the Chosen One's loyalty to him.

And what would _an orphan_ wish for among everything else... Hamelda seemed to be able to read my mind as she answered, "and of course what an orphan wants first and foremost is a warm family. A warm big family who was loyal to..."

But I cut her off, "Harry Potter was friended with my uncle Ron first and foremost you know, before he knew the rest of Weasley family. He met my uncle on the first day boarding the train."

Once again, Hamelda levelled me with a look, "and how do you know that Professor Dumbledore did not arrange that meeting?"

Which left me speechless. Professor Dumbledore - _the wise wizard at that time._

He knew how to play his role in the war; he already _won_ his first war after all. He knew this game, - he was a master. If what this Jorkins implied was true, what more were his parts during the war?

How much hands he had in arranging plans and schemes of the war. Was my family part of the plans too?

If so, how much did they knew?

.

 **And so they verified it again, and again.**

"So Molly, what do you need to know?"

Taking a deep breath, and exhaling I said, "How about starting from the start?"

.

.

 _._

 _When he Apparated to the designed meeting place, several masked figures were already there waiting for him. Pulling back his left sleeve, he showed the figures the mark on his arm. They nodded in acknowledgement. And as if in agreement, together they began to move._


	7. Chapter 7

Let me tell you something about daddy.

 **.**

 **He was an observant man.**

I remembered when I was little, daddy was the one to take care of me when I fell sick. It was because he noticed the difference in my behaviour, in my speeches, the difference when my skin colour slightly off, and when I would not eat certain foods. So daddy being an observant person, was probably like a superhuman.

.

 _The group of masked people and the man arrived at the outskirt of an abandoned town. A sound of howling could be heard from a far. It was a dangerous mission; their scent could be smelled and tracked back to them._

 _But of course, they were not amateur in this kind of work. Picking up where the direction of the wind blew, they took cover at the stilled area._

 _Silently, they waited._

 _A small movement from the left alerted the man. He signalled to the rest of his companion, 'A stray from the pack'.And they knew just simple magic would not give effect on the werewolves as they were immune to magic, but the group were also thankful that it was not a night with a full moon._

 _The people get into the formation, but the man stayed hidden to observe the rest of the pack and to notify his companions the moment the pack would be distracted. A moment passed and he signalled the group to be ready with the silent spells. One person Transfigured himself into a black venomous snake; one more manipulated the earth to be soaked with water and prepared a muddy area._

 _With a flick movement from the man's hand, they attacked._

 _._

 **He was a person who would think thoroughly before deciding.**

Events and party planning in the house were always handed over to Daddy; Momma only acted as the assistant. And he was perfect at the job. He spent at least two weeks thinking about the things that must be included in the events, the things that the participants could enjoy, the things that would bring the events alive, and finally could bring smile to his family's faces.

While making plans for the events or parties, my daddy always had this contemplating look on his face and he just looked so concentrate that even I could not manage to distract him. On his table, there would be several sheets of paper scribbled with plans which were being rewritten over and over again.

However at the end of the events, I always knew that my daddy was the best man at planning. The parties and events hold by him always had a perfect end.

.

 _It was swift; but of course, it was only a lone werewolf._

 _But the man had taken several steps of measurement to ensure the capture was successful. They did not use any active magic which released sounds and lights; it would be foolish to use them in the area of Werewolves with heightened senses._

 _Instead, the venomous snake slither carefully in the mud; one more person lingered nearby; and one more stand with a small object being 'Wingardium Leviosa-ed' near the area._

 _As the werewolf ventured further into the mud, the 'silencing barrier' was activated. Surprised by sudden small energy of the magic, the werewolf prepared to escape; but not before the snake launched itself into werewolf's leg and deliver a powerful venom meant to immobile. As a safety measure, the small object attached itself to the werewolf's neck._

 _With less power, not being fuelled by the effect of full moon; the werewolf only struggled in the mud for a while. But alas, it gave a silent scream and laid unmoved._

 _Lifting the earth from the mud spell, the area returned to its dry state and the snake slither back to the hidden place. Carefully placing a sheet under the werewolf, one person 'Wingardium Leviosa-ed' the sheet carrying the werewolf and brought him to the man._

 _Slowly taking out the syringe from the werewolf's neck, he ordered one member with a small movement of his head to tie their captive. While still observing the rest of the pack, the group silently gather back. Taking out a small coin, they teleported away from that place._

 _._

 **He was a pretty calm person.**

My sister and I were not like Daddy.

Where dad was prim and proper, we were rumbustious and wild; but not in the sense of wayward daughters. We were just like his siblings, filled with curious thought and love the adventure.

When we played in the house, understand that the place would not look the same after the play. We would convert the living room into a maze; the kitchen became our experimenting area; bedroom was filled with a mess of objects being brought in from other places; library in disarray of books being let out several places ( _but not damaged. No. We appreciated books),_ and the attics littered with our toys and games.

Momma would scream at us to clean, and when it was loud enough; we listened and followed her orders to manage back the area of our mischief. After that she would spent hours upon hours nagging upon our misbehaviour, because Momma was a very organized person and she became distressed easily when she saw the after effect of our plays.

We did not meant harm, of course. We just simply forgotten to clean after our mess sometimes. Momma should understand that we were just two curious girls.

On the other hand; daddy, when he came back from the ministry, - _often looking tired and listless_ , just took a look at the place.

He did not scream, nor shout, nor let out an angry voice. When he spoke, there was not even a hint of resentment in his voice. He just beckoned us over with a wave and lead us to a sitting area.

Then he asked us step by step about what we should do about the situation. He let us understand first about what was wrong about the situations, and when we admitted that we made a mess, he asked us about what action must we take next to fix it.

We discussed together like it was a problem needed to address properly and fact that he did not discouraged our curious behaviours and instead just focusing on the matter of mess at hand, gave us an assurance that our actions were not wrong. It was alright to be adventurous and curios, however he advised us to be aware of our consequences.

The scenario of a grown man discussing this matter with his two little girls like they were both already responsible young adults might have seemed ridiculous to others. But to us, his calm handling of situation washed us over like magic. His calm voice was soothing and easy to be understood and followed.

And somehow, we listened to him more rather than Momma.

.

 _They were back at the designed area (predictably a basement). The captive was bounded and thrown rather forcefully unto the floor, which served to wake it up. The vitality of werewolf was great; and even with the potent venom from the snake and further poison from the syringe, the werewolf still began to stir awake._

 _The system in its body slowly pumped the blood to the whole body to nullify the poison and reject it through the flow of blood underneath its fingernails._

 _When the werewolf realized it had been captured, it struggled against the rope. But the struggling only assisted the rope in restricting his form much tightly, so it stopped. Instead, it looked around and gave a loud snarl._

 _The darkness that welcomed its snarl did not help its anxiety. His attackers were hidden in the shadow. A lone man stepped up and the werewolf whipped its head to his direction; though his face was still hidden._

 _Soon, the interrogation session started from the man's side, and were answered back with sneers and growls; -until finally, the werewolf had regained enough energy. Using the power of its hind legs, it surged forward._

 **.**

 **When he got mad, he became calculative. And a calm calculative person, was a dangerous person indeed.**

There was a time when uncle George decided it was funny to tell about all embarrassing moments of daddy's childhood to us, his daughters. To be honest, they were just times when the twins played prank on him or used him for all sorts of experiments.

But when daddy knew about what uncle had done, he held this look on his face.

The retribution came by stages.

It started with small facts about Uncle delivered to his children during unassuming conversations. Somehow he managed to slip several embarrassing information about uncle in between the talks of small topic ( _"It's alright for your first time on the broom, Fred. My brother, George had it worse. His pant got stuck on the broom when he slipped from it.")("I remembered when your father and I played by this lake, Roxanne. He thought he caught a small school of fish with his hand. After he gulped some of them down, I told him they were tadpoles.")_

And somehow Aunt Angelina managed to find several childhood pictures of her husband ( _"The gnomes multiplied in the times we were away. They were a little bit mischievous. Ahh, so this is where this picture went. Do you see this boy Angelina? This is little George when he was seven." "He had a bright red face." "Yes, mother took this picture after he changed his clothes." "What happened to the clothes before?" "He..."_ "Perce...!")

One evening, we were gathered together for a dinner at the grandparents' house. The affair proceeded as usual with loud chattering voices. That evening, grandma happened to cook a lot of dishes and did not have enough plates to serve. So daddy helped her to look for stored plates in the cabinet, and after a while brought out an antique plate with a neon green colour. ( _"That plate looks familiar, Percy." "Why, yes mother. It is." "It looks like the plate which my mother gave to me for a present after the twins' birth." "I guess it is, mother." "Why had it been gone for... fifteen years? And why is it..._ green?" _"I don't know, mother. I found it just now." "_... George.")

And it might be my imagination but Uncle George followed daddy into his room, and after he left, daddy graced his daughters with a soft smile.

 _._

 _He bid his time._

 _He asked questions to test the resilient of the werewolf towards the Persuasive magic he hide in his voice._

 _It seemed that werewolves were indeed magical creatures immune to magic, so he gathered that information into the many facts inside of his head._

 _The problem was, how to break the werewolf into giving out information when it was so resilient to magic? When the werewolf started to move, he started with the second phase._

 _The group around him sprang into actions; a sound of air being slashed was heard, and suddenly, the werewolf found that it could not move. Its hind legs suddenly felt numb. Several seconds went by when finally, it let out a painful howl._

 _Its hind legs were nailed unto the floor with a set of silver tools. A final person landed on its back; making sure to land heavily enough to cause pain, and nailed a pair more of silver tools on both of its shoulders._

 _All the power seemed to sap from its body, and the blood stopped pumping the poison out. Slowly, the werewolf started to feel hazy. But the man before him spoke again._

 _The air around it seemed to change, and the dark place started to be filled with a thick mist. The werewolf began to feel lost and drowsy, its body turning languid. A whisper managed to find a way into its mind, and the werewolf let it in. The voice was sweet; it promised that everything would be fine and it would light the way to get out from the mist. The voice contained deep reassurance that everything would be alright if it would just give the voice the information it needed._

 _The werewolf immediately opened its eyes at that._

 _Its forehead covered in sweat, it looked upward. A man adorned in all black looked back at him. His face was close enough for it to notice all the details; a man's face crowned with a dark red hair, cut short and arranged in a proper way. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses adorned his face; a determined look in his eyes._

 _A set of hard blue eyes which ordered it_ to speak.

 _._

 _._

 _._

 **And did I mentioned that, he was the only person to receive all twelve O.W.L.s in history?**


	8. Chapter 8

Language is a curious thing. It differs from one state to another depending on how people produce the sound. But one thing for sure, they are the medium of communication.

.

.

 ** _'Speak.'_**

 _That was the voiceless order which vibrated in the werewolf's mind. It tried very hard, -of course, to deny the request, believed it, - it tried very hard. But like the silver tools nailed on both its hind legs as well as on its shoulders, the voice would not budge._

 _._

 _'Speak'_

 _It repeated. Again, the werewolf tried to reject its presence, -in return, there was a sudden stabbing pain attacking its frontal lobe. The pain intensified as the werewolf continued to fight the voice._

 _._

 _'Speak'_

 _Tears gathering at its eyes, the werewolf bite down on its own tongue to avoid from spilling any valuable information. With blood slowly dribbling from its mouth, the voice still relentlessly attacked the werewolf's mental fortress._

 _._

 _'SPEAK!'_

 _Eyes wide opened, the werewolf could only let out a loud howl as its brain was assaulted by thousands stabbing of blinding pain._ White _. The werewolf could only saw_ the white _then. Slowly losing its hold of its own mind, the werewolf's eyes rolled back, - letting the voice got hold of whatever it seeks._

 _The tongue was horribly mangled by the sharp teeth, yet, the muscle still tried to move around in the cave of werewolf's mouth. Several puffs of air mixed with blood were let out, and only the unrecognisable sounds were heard._

 _The man, -seeing this, ordered one of his companions to 'Scorgify' the blood, and mended the damaged muscle._

 _When all was done, the man produced a chair, opened a file, and with a quill in his hand, he started his first question._

 _The questioning and answering session took a long time to finish, But the man, with one of his brothers' language translator invention inserted inside his left ear,- just sat patiently._

 _And listened._

.

 **I knew my daddy only talked of the truth. But somehow I knew that sometimes, he did not tell every truths.**

"I don't know how to tell you this, Molly. I might be bias in my story, since I just heard about it from my parents' side of view. But I also heard the part of stories that our uncles and aunts did not tell you. The part that Grandma and Grandpa did not tell you. The part that even your _dear daddy_ did not tell you. But I will tell you Molly, the part from the first war until the meeting of Weasley and Uncle Harry was true, - they were all true, do you want to know when did they start to differ…?"

"… just tell me Roxanne. And why are Hugo, Fred, Rose, and Dominique here too?"

 _Roxanne, with an attitude only she could manage flawlessly, just dismissed my concern with a wave of hand._ "Be glad that the second cousins decided not to join us too." _She turned around and looked at the other Weasleys, as if to seek for a confirmation. Seeing only a determined look being send her way, she addressed me again._ "Anyway Molly, just understand that we were not supposed to tell you this until you are old enough. But, I guess that since you already entered Hogwarts, and learning to be a qualified witch, which I guess deemed you as a responsible teenager, someone who knows not to freak out and to listen calmly from us, -I guess this means that we are finally lifted from the restrictions to tell you things."

 _And I could not process the information she just told me._ "… what do you mean by, _we?_ And why? Who was the one that put the restrictions? I mean, seriously? _Restrictions?_ For _me?_ "

 _Rose, the observing one until now decided to speak up,_ " _We,_ the family members besides your daddy, of course. _Who?_ Take a guess."

 _I raised one of my eyebrow sceptically,_ "Daddy? But why?"

 _The group fallen silent for a moment. After giving another searching look around the group, Roxanne asked me again,_ "First, let me confirm this, Molly. Do you really think that your daddy had joined the fight in the second war?"

 _And I could not help but gave a sigh as I already heard about this accusation multiple of times._ "He's a Weasley. Of course he had." _I gave her a tired look._

 _But Dominique seemed like her feathers ruffled a little bit by the confident I had for my daddy, thus she tried to challenge me,_ "What made you think that way? Think again about your dad' personality. Don't you agree that he's a little bit different than the rest of his siblings?"

 _So I turned to her, to face her properly, -as well as projecting a clear and a bit louder voice so the other Weasley could listen as well,_ "Even though people might claim that he's indifferent towards the war, let me tell you this. He's a loyal Weasley. He would not even _think_ about abandoning them in the time of crisis." _I paused a little bit to gather myself._ "I know that he's a little bit ambitious, and he worked at the ministry at the time, to truly participate in the war. But my _daddy,_ had ways to fight in the war that the other Weasleys didn't at that time."

"Oh, really?", _a sudden voice from my left side, made me faced Hugo next._ "Then let's hear about what _your daddy_ told you then, Molly. And then, you will listen to us about the sides of _your daddy_ that you don't know."

"Don't be so haughty Hugo." _I calmly shrug off my older cousin._ "And don't assumes that I was so clueless about my daddy's roles in the war. I knew that he did not participate actively in the fight. I knew enough, from the stories and the observations that I collected, to know that daddy, - _fought_ his own _fights."_

 _And again, Dominique tried to dissuade me,_ "You sound so sure Molly. You sound like you had believe Uncle Percy to truly stick by the Weasleys during the war time." _and stopping for a while, as if to give a dramatic pause,_ _she gave a little smile. "_ But let me tell you this. He had not."

 _And I could not help but to be disturbed by that smile,_ "What do you mean by that?"

 _Yet it was Roxanne who answered me,_ "He distanced himself, Molly. He cut himself from the war."

"That's not true." _… and somehow, I can feel the sound of my heart started to beat rapidly._

 _Hugo seemed glee to see my rapidly nervous face. And he gave a piece of his mind to further distress me,_ "That is the truth, Molly. And you know what, from what _I_ gathered and heard about him, I found out one thing for sure." _Thud. Thud. Thud. It even started to race._

"He was a coward."

 _And then it stopped._

 **.**

 **And although I think lying is bad, telling only half-truth does not fare well either.**

 _Over than 20 years ago,_

 _The talks about the war was hush-hush in the building. Everyone pretended that the war did not disturbed them, did not even manage to penetrate the thick magic wall of ministry building. Yet, there was tension everywhere._

 _Alone at his cubicle, Arthur Weasley could not help but be nervous as yet another of his co-worker gone missing during the war. Either from resigning quietly, fleeing into another country, or_ de.. _he inhaled deeply. …_ dea _… he did not dare to think about it._

 _But he knew. Yes, he knew._

 _That there were not just the ministry officers in the building. Other forces were here too. And he suspected many knew about that too, that was the only reason why there seemed to be less ministry officers in the building day by day._

 _But he continued to review the report he received, complaining about one of Muggle's artefact being fused with magic and raging havoc in a small Muggle community._

 _He did not know if the report about a television gaining feet were important enough to warrant his attention, but he just proceed to write a reply._

 _He worked. Many who resisted the fear or the oppression from the war continued to work._

 _They would wake up in the morning, wore the official robes, took the Floo system or the elevator network, and then arrived at the building on time. Because life still went on in the time of war._

 _But Arthur knew something that his co-workers did not. He and several more of his colleagues knew._

 _That Albus Dumbledore had plans to end the war. And they were just standing by to act as the eyes, and ears for the Order of Phoenix in the ministry building._

 _He read the letter from his youngest son again. He tried to suppress the nauseous feel in his throat. The children. The ones that he should protect. Were being involved indirectly in the war instead._

 _Sometimes he wondered if Hogwarts old castle was great enough to give protection to the young wizards and witches. The walls might be impenetrable, but if the attack came from the inside, then Hogwarts might not be as safe as it claimed to be._

 _He clenched his jaws hard when he thought about the Hogwarts High Inquisitor's new post. Madame Umbridge had a little bit of peculiar approaches than most people, even at the ministry. And with the campaign to discredit Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter still going around the places, and Umbridge blatant dislike of their persons as opposed to the Minister of Magic; Arthur Weasley could only pray for his children's safety inside the castle._

 _Then he thought about his wayward son. They had fought several days ago. He moved out to the place only his wife knew where. He could only let out a sigh at that._

 _He wondered why this only son seemed to defy him in the times that the family bonds needed to be strong. This only son that criticized the leadership of Albus Dumbledore, - he dared to even ridiculed his great minds; and greatly disapprove of the Order of Phoenix…_ 'let him be then,' _Arthur thought. He was already so stressed with the war, and his prodigal son just seemed to stretch his string even further. This son that was supposed to be the brightest wizard of his generation, why did he seem so stupid now?_

 _He read again the letter from his youngest son, about the Harry Potter. The young man that destined to be the end of Lord Voldemort. And he sobbed, because they were only children._

 **.**

 **Even though I knew the reason he did not tell everything, was because some truths just hurt.**

 _Fred Weasley punched the table again when he thought about a certain red-head with horn-rimmed spectacles._

 _Unacceptable._

 _How dare he humiliated the person who brought him up and raised him to be the person he was now, in front of that filthy Minister that he tried very hard to defend instead._

 _He thought he was so great about his new promotion. That stupid brother who did not know he was just being used to spy on the family; just to rise in power._

'A power-hungry man, he always is,' _Fred thought as he punched the table again for the umpteenth times._

 _Intolerable._

 _He chose to be sided to the depraved Minister of Magic; just to achieve his ambition to be the youngest minister ever._

 _Let him lick the current minister's ass for all he cared, because Fred Weasley did not care. Not anymore._

 _A traitorous brother like that, he did not need him anymore._

 **.**

 **The daddy I knew was a lonely person, he just wanted to be heard.**

 _Bill Weasley had been working with the goblins for a while, and yet he still did not manage to understand them. The greedy creatures that did not seemed to care about the war, even if it was brewing under their nose. All they care about was just the gold and nickels stored in the various vaults, guarded by a single powerful dragon underground._

 _He missed his old job in the Egypt. He missed being away from this place. But he had a job. Not only at the Gringotts. But by the Order._

 _His mind reeling towards a younger brother that he failed to understand since their childhood._

 _Their personalities just seemed to clash. Percy Weasley was an ambitious and rule-follower man that did not fit well with the rest of the Weasley clans. So even if the news of him sided with the ministry and being estranged from the family came, he did not feel disturbed by it. Because in truth, he already felt like a stranger from the start._

 **.**

 **But time and again, people just brushed him away.**

 _Molly Weasley did not understand. How did things turned out to be like this? They were supposed to be the Weasleys, the clan famous for having a strong bond and would do anything for their own blood._

 _Yet her son._

 _The son who lived with her during the first war. If anything, he should be the one to understand about the war the most out of her children. Because he already knew about the fear, and about the need of staying together._

 _Yet she did not understand about Albus Dumbledore too. About why he offered the membership of Order of Phoenix to only her two eldest sons?_

 _Why not Percy too? Was it because he was too tightly bound to the minister, too near to the top that he feared that Percy would leak the Order's secret if asked? But Molly knew her son, she knew that Percy would not thoughtlessly endangered his family._

 _Yet the son she thought she knew was now estranged._

 _Molly Weasley was confused. And to sort out her confusion, she went to the only person that she could asked the question._

 _She asked Albus Dumbledore to please let Percy in the Order._ 'Was it to protect the secret of the Order's existent?' _she asked. But the Order of Phoenix was already an open secret._

 _Everybody knew about it._

 _So why not let Percy joined too. Empower with the mother's will to protect, she confronted Albus Dumbledore alone at the Grimmauld Place._

 _Yet all the professor gave her was the order to wait. He offered the reason that it was not time yet. And still, she did not understand._

 _But with all the persuasion, the old professor only gave her a twinkling eye and a mysterious smile._

 _And Molly Weasley did not asked anymore because she knew, Professor Albus Dumbledore obviously knew best._

 _She did worry about her son, but she knew where he was, so she did not ask how he was._

 **.**

 **My daddy who just learned to speak half-truth, just because it was the part that people want to hear about** _._

 _Ron Weasley was furious about the letter from his supposed brother._

 _Not only did he 'advised' him not to follow Fred and George's route, - fearing that he would cause trouble at school; but he also asked him to break off all contacts with Harry Potter._

 _Ron Weasley teared the letter a part, into million pieces so he would not recognised the words anymore._

 _Something was wrong with Percy. His new promotion had addled his mind, and made him forgotten about the importance of family._

 _His writings just full of twiddling words that seemed hard to read but in the end, he understood the messages. Percy Weasley had let the power get into his head, and was determined to make Ron to follow his steps._

 _This congratulatory letter was just a disguise._

 _Percy Weasley had a message to send; and it was that he had drifted further from the family._

 **.**

 **He learned to swallow some words that he wanted to scream.**

 _Percy Weasley was tired._

 _He checked the locks on his door again before he reached over and cancelled the barriers he putted on his house. Then he checked if the curses he placed had been triggered._

 _He was a very paranoid person; as he let several moments passed before he safely stepped into his own house, wand slightly raised at his side._

 _Percy Weasley checked the corners and the Floo system that he already blocked since he rent the house. Slowly reaching behind him to close the door, he raised the barriers again._

 _Walking to the living room, he plopped ungracefully unto an old couch, letting out a hard breath._

 _Percy Weasley was tired._

 _Today he read more paper about Muggle-borns. The so-called magic thieves. He was the one that helped to fill in their forms so they would be faster to be located. And he passed the forms to Madame Umbridge. The cruel, hated, sinister witch._

 _Percy Weasley was tired._

 _He saw his father in the elevator today. And they both tried their very best to ignore each other throughout the journey, fuelled by the stubborn traits in their blood. He had wanted to ask about his mother, but he held his tongue. Arthur Weasley avoided looking into his direction even after he went out the elevator._

 _Percy Weasley was tired._

 _Harry Potter was in the newspaper again. This time for sure his baby brother and sister were going to be dragged along the dangerous route of the Chosen One again. They were friends, for Merlin's sake; - and together, they were very ignorant children. Why could not they understand to distance themselves from the danger that Harry seemed so infatuated with. Why could not they understand that they were not powerful enough to fight in the war. They were not brilliant enough._

 _But he was different. He was a brilliant wizard, only 19 years-old and he already the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic. Yes, Percy was a brilliant wizard. And he already participated in the war once._

 _So he was tired. His nerves were fried. This was like the first war all over again._ 'I have to be quiet,' _he thought as he closed his eyes._ 'I have to behave _,_ ' _he thought as he curled into himself on the old mouldy couch – or else, he would be found._

 _He was a child born in war, so he understood this. He was only a teenager, yet he understood this; this war could not be fought blindly. This was not a simple war where the Dark Lord would be defeated, and the war would end. This was not the war where soon the good would prevail and everyone would live happily ever after._

'This was not simply a war,' _Percy thought tiredly. Somehow his family got involved too. He was a brilliant wizard, and he knew this would not be easy._

 _He was very tired._

 _In his well-warded house; - full of barriers and curses, Percy Weasley cried for the second time that day._

 **.**

 **My daddy, if you could tell, how many things would you spill I wonder?**


	9. Chapter 9

hi hello. This is just a writer's note :)

i just want to express thanks to the wonderful reviews so thank you to Grey Jackett, ColbiWest, Ghargr18, Laurelance and uhh... Glen. Your reviews meant a lot to me :D

* * *

 **In the world of magic, it did not matter if you had a better physique.**

 **… magic, depends more on the soul.**

.

 _The session continued deep into the night, and would continue more, if not for the constrained of the man's schedule to return to work._

 _The people around him began to tug free the silver tools from their captured werewolf, and set the bounded prisoner to one of the room in the basement. He would return in later time to extract more information from it._

 _._

 _Two weeks later, another 'Crack' was sounded in his office. The man was not sure if it was the same masked person as before but after inquired about a 'code', the person flashed red spark from the wand._

 _'A meeting, then.'_

 _The man nodded his confirmation; in a swift, the person Apparated away._

 _._

 _The hall was as impressive as ever, with drawings of runes and decorative symbols craved on the walls and the ceiling; - which were glowing for each passing minute, sometimes yellowish and sometimes reddish in colour._

 _The man knew the carvings were not as innocent as it seemed, - not only did it act as the secretive barrier that kept the information from leaking out by bounding the people inside from speaking or telling the information of any sort outside it, the carvings also contained constricting magic that prevented the occupants of the hall from lashing offensive magics._

 _The man entered the place accompanied by his masked companions. He, however did not wear anything that would covered his face._

 _The same goes for several people standing around the hall, accompanied by their own set of masked companions._

 _Each revealed person was different from one another, as they were all from various parts of countries around the world. The same thing about them however were, the hardened face and a set of scrutinizing eyes, - wary, despite the fact that they were all allies in this decorative hall. It seemed like some people still could not shake the feeling of uneasiness when trusting someone not from their place of origin. However, they all had a common goal, - and it was for that that they showed their faces to ensure that they could gain trust from each other._

 _One person carried a staff, which signified as the master of ceremony of the meeting. The staff had rotated for each meeting, as the man once held it about three months ago._

 _Counting the head of the revealed people, the person deemed that the number of gathering was complete and thumped the staff on the floor._

 _Immediately every person in the hall quiet down and gathered at the centre; some people conjured some chairs of sorts to rest themselves._

 _All their masked companions however stand at the back near the wall, to respect the circle of leaders gathering at the centre._

 _It started with the person who issued the meeting; the same person who was the master of ceremony, - a woman in her seventies, with dark eyes and greying hair neatly secured long behind her back. She did not age gracefully as her face was full of wrinkles and dark spots, and her back hunched painfully, with her bones protruding through her thin skin. Her skin was pale, near translucent in fact, that the veins could be seen clearly through it._

 _She, however held herself highly. With a set of dark red silky robe, and a tall hat to match, she looked at the people gathered with eyes like hawk._

 _Not someone to waste time with greetings, she just stated the fact that one of her masked companion had detected a wizard in her country was attempting the same thing as the previous Dark Lord of certain country._

 _Horcruxes._

 _At that, her eyes stopped briefly at the man, expressing anger through her dark eyes for letting the dark magic knowledge of his previous Dark Lord to escape to another country._

 _The man suppressed a wince and kept a blank face as the woman continued; the wizard was killed after he had been captured and interrogated. According to him, the subordinates of the Dark Lord were too many and varied in kinds; - some of which were very dangerous and still drunken in the ecstasy of power of the dark times. Under the name of Death Eaters, they tried to resurrect their supremacy again by gaining allies and followers from other magic continents._

 _She had issued her masked companions to send the message immediately to every leader; knew that several of them already had some leading information regarding the scattered subordinates of the Dark Lord, and urging them to fasten the process._

 _She asked for confirmation that the findings already completed, and after receiving a collective of affirmations of sorts, she nodded to her masked companions to bring forward the Pensieve._

 _It was a huge metal basin, the size of a small pool. To better transport it, the Pensieve was placed on a slightly larger tray, in which it was enchanted by four people to float until it was placed in front of the aging witch._

 _At the sight of the metal basin; as per usual, one by one the wizards and the witches gathered around and stand before the Pensieve, extracting their selected memories using their wands and laid them into the basin. When the final person had placed his memories inside the basin, at once, all of them downed themselves into the Pensieve and reviewed what their companions had discovered throughout their own findings._

 _It was a fast process in which everyone experienced the same things at once. No words needed to be exchanged between them; only the words and the sights of the memories were listened and observed attentively._

 _Some people in the memories laid several documents on the table to be read; some opened several files which contained pictures and vital information secretly; while some showed several places, which contained several suspicious activities._

 _All the spectators tried to commit the information into their memories; all the while were aid by translator tools and memory enhancing spell._

 _As the last memory flash out, the leaders of the gathering pulled their heads out from the metal basin. Taking a while to collect themselves, they looked around to their supposed allies._

 _This, was their common goal. To seek, and to know the threat to their magical community. Having experienced the surreal journey, a sense of trust began to renew in their eyes._

 _They had collected additional information from each other, - which meant, they had more works to do. They gave each other a bow or a salute of respect._

 _And then they with their own set of masked companions, exited the hall with renewed purposes._

.

 **When I was a child, my daddy always carried me and my sister with his strong arms. He also had broad shoulders. We always thought that daddy was a very strong man.**

So I believed that he would readily gave me the answers to my cousins' accusations. He was a strong man, he was a brave man. In no way that he was a coward like my cousins claimed him to be.

The meeting with my cousins in secluded area of the library happened three days ago, but the issue of it nagged continuously into my mind. Since then, every time I encountered with any of my cousin, the issue would surface and took a lot of space in my thought, hindering my thinking abilities throughout the days.

They claimed him to be a coward. They claimed him to be a traitor. They accused him to be a prodigal son, who cut the ties and abandoned his family in times of need. I declared they all wrong.

They were wrong; and uncles and aunts were wrong; grandma and grandpa were also, wrong.

Because how could daddy be all that, and yet there he was, every weekend gathered at grandparents' house, meeting the whole family? How could he be that when he gave support in form of financial, work ties, and moral every time there was trouble to family members?

How could he be that when he valued his daughters deeply and always gave us gentle smile, talked to us with soft spoken words and stroke our heads when we were in distress. If they were not blind then they could see perfectly how daddy was a family man.

So I came to the conclusion that the accusations were null, and only based on the resentment they had because my daddy was a very successful man.

Still, I wanted to ask him himself. And so, I contemplated on whether I should send the letter through Mercury, - a hawk owl I received from my daddy as congratulatory gift for entering Hogwarts, I knew that the hawk owl was strong and fast and would deliver the letter with lighting fast speed to the hand of receiver.

But I was not nervous about my choice of delivering the letter, - instead, was it wise to send the letter?

Such a sensitive and personal issue should be handled face to face. I needed to know his expressions when discussing the matter, I needed to know his reactions when he listened to the accusations, I needed to know his answers immediately after the questions, and I needed to be able to counter with other questions.

But I was also an impatient girl; I was a Ravenclaws, and I let curiosity overwhelm my senses.

And so I tied the letter to Mercury's left leg, and set him free into the night sky.

.

 **He had strong soul that could handle work load in stressful environment all day long, and yet still gave a bright smile every time he returned home.**

 _The event of last night still flashed through the man's mind._

 _After the meeting, he had a niggling feeling with one information and decided to bring his companions to visit one of the places he discovered during the Pensieve experience._

 _It was at the outskirt of a dead town, in the area of old abandoned graveyards with some graves with damaged headstones, and some without them at all. The graveyard was a pitiful sight with several places littered with holes; a sign of the graves being disturbed and dug out by wild animals or other creatures._

 _However, one thing was not missed by the man and his masked companions. The place was unusually freezing, almost to the point that it might snow even though it was the end season of spring._

 _It was when one person of the group tapped the man on his shoulder and showed him to a shadowed corner, did they realize something._

 _They had found the nest of ghouls._

 _._

 _It was a troubling matter. The ghouls were known to eat the dead, prey on young children, seducing humans, as well as drinking their blood._

 _He did not know where, when and how the ghouls found their ways into the country; their origins were from Middle East. Were they brought in during Lord Voldemort's times, or were they brought in long before? How many of them were there, then?_

 _How could he capture the ghouls without alerting the rest of this magical communities about their presences, without them going into frenzies? He could readily imagine what kind of chaos would that bring and how many media press would be conducted to discuss the issues. No, he did not have time for all of that._

 _As he pondered on the new problem, the man heard the sound of 'Thunk' repeatedly from his window._

 _He recognised the hawk owl and his face brighten a little bit at the sight._

 _As he loosened the tie on the owl's leg to get the letter, he thought about his older daughter at her new school. Did she make many friends? Did she talk to the rest of her families? Was the food okay? Was she okay?_

 _He opened the letter with a slight smile._

 _At the end of the reading, the man focussed all the will in his body to stop the shivering he had. Several drops of sweats fell into the letter, and he hurriedly swiped them intending to clean the letter, but resulting in the words being smudged._

 _The man just held the letter again and tried to read the second time. He did, and crumbled the letter when he was done._

 _His eyes were being shut tightly, and his jaws tauten. Several moments passed, and the man tried his best to regulate his breathing into normal pace._

 _The sound of clicking was heard from the owl; the sound of waiting for a reply._

 _His head pounded with a new headache, the man just gave a listless stare towards the owl. And finally a single tear escaped from his left eye into the letter, and he just smiled at the sight of that. Tentatively, he reached for a quill and a piece of small scroll from his drawer._

 _He wrote a reply, "Dear…_

.

 **I had never seen him to be shaken; I had never seen him with a weak-willed. And because of that, I always held him as my hero.**

It was later that night when Mercury returned.

When he landed on the window sill, I immediately went to grab his left leg to get the reply letter. I knew that Mercury disliked the rough treatment I gave him by the act of continuous pecking he gave me on the back of my head, but I just brushed him off. The letter was short however, as I opened it very swiftly. It started with usual greeting; _"Dear Molly, my dear daughter, whom I love and adore with all my heart…_

…do you hate me now?"

 **.**

 **And never once in my life did I see him falter.**

 _He could see it in slow motion._

 _._

 _The plan should had gone smoothly without a hitch. It was a plan of stealth formation and information gathering. They were all hiding in a safe place. They were all wearing clothes that concealed their humans' scent. The plan was just to scout the area, and look for more nest of ghouls._

 _It was supposed to be that way._

 _But it did not._

 _He went a little too far from his group; he went too far and too near the centre of the nest. It was just his luck that one particularly large ghoul with green skin spotted him._

 _And he tried to stiffen its limb with Petrificus Totalus, he really tried._

 _Somehow the spell he cast died halfway.  
_

 _._

 _._

 _ _..and the ghoul jumped from its stand into him.__


	10. Chapter 10

Round and round the world spins, -nights turn to days, and days turn to nights. As such time flies, yet does the concept of time applies the same? Will it always be the same rate as everyone else? Is your time a little late? Or is it fast? If slow, how excruciating slow is it? Are you waiting for something, for it to be slow? If it is fast, are you already content with living?

.

 _ **He could see it in slow motion.**_

 _The ghoul's mouth opened wide showing off a set of sharp teeth gleaming with saliva and a little bit liquid of dark red, doubtlessly the blood._

 _Its eyes however were dimmed in colour; cloudy with iris less pupils. The little dots of black in that vision of death staring straight at him, already locking on its target of prey. Claws appearing fast, the man could only see how that sickly green flesh taut with muscles and full of dirt could reach him in less than a minute; considering the powerful jump it had just displayed not a moment ago._

 _'Is this how I die?'_

 _Less than a second passed, and he gave a somewhat humourless laugh._

 _'Well, let it be fast then.'_

 **.**

 **I could feel how fast my days went, with how my head seemed to get stuck in the clouds during those days.**

 _'Stupid,'_ I thought to myself.

That letter was a mistake, - truly a mistake. I could only imagine the scenarios that went through my daddy' head when he received the letter. But I couldn't understand… what prompted him to write such a reply? He was a confident man, he was a brave man, he knew that I love him, yet, - _why?_

I could only imagine about things that went through his mind that made him to arrive to that conclusion, and yet it was still unlikely that daddy would write such a thing.

Such thing like asking his own daughter if she hated him, when she was just asking about his past that she was sure did not happened and just asked for his own side of story so she could prove to others that her daddy was not like what they thought him of…

… _when_ she just asked him to defend for himself, because she knew and trusted that her daddy was loyal, and brave, and was a family man, and was not a power-hungry man like what they accused him to be…

… and she just wanted to know about what he did; she just wanted to know about his own actions during the war, because she knew he always did the right thing, he was not blind to the power, she knew that; he had not sided to the ministry and instead had fought in the war in the way only he was capable of, she knew that;

… and yet, where did this low-esteem come from?

.

 _'This is the worst._

 _It was really a bad idea to send the letter…'_ I still fingered the letter which I slipped in my pocket; going through mentally the short answer detailing in that small patch of scroll.

I could not bring it myself to construct a reply for it, I was afraid that he would arrived at another bad conclusion.

That was the reason why sending letters in the first place addressing about a personal issue, was a stupid idea. Because my words might seem emotionless and accusing.

It had been days after that night, and I couldn't get over the shock of receiving such a questioning reply from him. I never knew him to assume the worst when it was not even my intention to fault him of anything.

 **.**

 **The days seemed to get by so fast.**

And I could not help but wished, for time to slow down a little bit. To let me think for a while. To let me sort through things.

To let me find a way to assure him that everything was fine.

But time did not stop; and so I spent my days much worse than when I listened to the stories from my older cousins. My classes were still conducted in the time that I was in the state of daze. My classmates seemed to absorb the lesson in much lifting spirit than I had, and obviously their works and assignments were excellent; because they were blessed with so much time to spare on thinking.

' _It was not fair,'_ I thought. ' _I have such little time.'_

Time was running out, and I knew that the longer I waited to give a reply to him, the more he would have time to think about the dreadful things that I would bestow on him.

 _'What must I do then?_

 _Who could I ask?'_

Who else could I ask about the war that would give the third-party view on his involvement in the war? Who was it that had a close relationship with Weasley clans and knew of the family dispute that could give his/her own personal opinion of the matter. Who knew daddy even before the war, knew his personality and traits, knew him enough to vouch for him when anything happened?

A certain Quidditch player came into the picture.

.

 **And then I could feel the time was practically crawling.**

The waiting was slow.

I had send a letter to Uncle Oliver the very night when I thought about his name, and it had been five days, and Mercury had not been in sight yet.

I needed the time to please come faster; I needed the answer, and I needed it immediately.

In the time of waiting however, I had more meetings with my dear cousins.

.

"You're not looking well, Molly," a concerned Fred Weasley said gently, as he laid a comforting hand on my right shoulder.

I was just sitting by the side of the lake, under a widowed tree, looking over the gigantic squid hunting its preys peacefully in the lake; when the third-year male Gryffindor appeared out of nowhere and graced me with his presence.

"Your face looks so pale, you look like you don't have enough sleep. Do you even eat properly? Here, have this biscuit, you might feel better."

With a soothing expression on his face, Fred began to produce an orange looking biscuit from his robe and proceeded to try feeding me if not for the few suspicious greenish spots on the biscuit, - looking like it had moulds and had been left for days, which made me immediately had an instant reaction of slapping the offensive object away.

Fred gave me a look like I had betrayed him and killed his puppy on his birthday, when another voice joined our companies.

"No experimenting on your own family, Fred."

Like it was an argument being repeated again and again, Fred just let out a tired sigh, "It's just a biscuit, Roxanne."

Left eyebrow being arched beautifully projected on her face made him to distance himself from me, - he was not going against his own sister, and walked away back into the castle. _("Tch. Who else should I let eating this thing then?")_

"Are you okay, Molly? You don't receive anything from him, right?" Rose asked from behind Roxanne, face looking anxious and full of worry because she knew Fred, she had been housemates as well as classmates to him so she understood well about his habits. Together, they began to sit on both of my sides and joined me on spectating the nature taking its course in the lake.

"This morning," Rose began again, "he tried to slip a wicked looking sausage on the plate of some poor first-year boy." Worry evident in her voice, she began to yank numerous number of innocent grass around her. "I don't know if Fred noticed, but that sausage really looks out of ordinary that I doubt anyone would eat it," at this, she gave a dubious expression on her face, and then resumed with an air of nonchalance, "So the boy just freaked out before tossing the sausage high into the air, and it landed on another girl's big bushy hair when she walked by."

"Did the sausage filled with some blue things inside looking like a poisoned intestine decorated with wicked veins packed with blood about to burst?" Roxanne began to examine her fingers closely, inspecting the new nail polish she applied that morning.

The red-head on my left tapped her finger on her chin, "something like that. Fred really have peculiar interest in colours. All his inventions are weird looking." She shrugged.

The fifth-year Gryffindor girl, Roxanne just let out a graceful laugh, "Weird looking? I don't think he care." She then began to tend to her own hair, tugging the tangled curly stresses away so they would fall gorgeously.

Rose appeared to think about her statement for a little bit, "Anyone who does eat it must be much bigger idiot than he is," she ended her speech with certainty.

It amused me when the two girls cared more about the appearance of the experimented food rather than worrying about the behaviour of their relative who freely experimenting on living people. And then, it triggered my curiosity, "What do those sausage and biscuit will even do, Roxanne?"

"Well," Roxanne combed her gorgeous red curls with her fingers a little bit before continuing, "Fred could be a secretive jerk when it comes to his own inventions, but I managed to 'borrow' several of them from his Magical Fourth-Dimensional Pocket which us, normal people would just call it a backpack, and managed to test some of them on some poor souls myself," if possible, her eyes seemed to gleam a little bit.

"From the effects they gave, the sausage only caused your nose to swell a bit bigger than usual; a size of a tomato and develop the same colour as the fruit as well; meanwhile the biscuit, just cause you to develop a gas constantly and releasing them in the most uncouth manner."

"… were the loud farts these days was because of that?"

Roxanne gave a sweet smile to the question, "I might be parts to be blame because I enjoy seeing guileless students to eat obviously suspicious looking biscuit and fell to their own demise, - if only they managed to use their pretty little head, then maybe they would know to never trust an orange biscuit with greenish spots."

"You do know you are a prefect, right Roxanne?" again, Rose let out a worry concern while yanking another innocent group of grass.

"And I carry my profession perfectly. It is to teach students to always think," her smile widened, Roxanne gave a little tilt of her head as if proud a job well done.

Sometimes I could not help but be glad that I was a part of Weasley clans and somehow was saved from being experimented by these creatures I called family. I always had to be cautious about the sanity of these creatures constantly, but I guess with George Weasley being Roxanne's and Fred's father, the apple could not have fallen far from the tree.

I was just glad that I was on their side.

.

"Anyway Molly, we are not here to discuss about Fred."

A sudden somber voice from Roxanne made me nervous, and she looked me straight into my eyes.

Rose from my left however, touch my hand softly, "We are sorry about the previous day. We realised we are not letting it out gently."

"That's right Molly," I turned back to Roxanne and I saw her search into my eyes looking for answers.

"We did not mean to blame your daddy. We did not mean to make him to look bad at all."

"… then why did you tell me all of that?"

"You are a curious girl, Molly. And you are always looking for answers." Roxanne then gave me a small smile, almost like she was afraid that I would freak out from suddenly talking about the topic, "We are just making sure to give it to you before you hear about it from anyone else. Because their versions might not be as kind."

"… what do you mean by that?"

And then Roxanne gave me a grim expression.

.

 **The event that could not be undone, once stop in time, would be rewind repeatedly.**

 _Over than 20 years ago,_

 _The Ministry of Magic was undertaking a survey of so-called "Muggle-borns". To understand how they came to possess magical secrets, several researches were undertaken by the Department of Mysteries to reveal that magic can only be passed from one person to another when Wizards reproduce. Where no proven Wizarding ancestry exists, the so-called Muggle-born were accused to have obtained magical power by theft or force. To end the issue, the Muggle-borns were called to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission._

 _It was chaos. It was a horrible time to live in. It was during 1998, when Lord Voldemort had finally taken over the Ministry of Magic, and causing the Muggle-born Registration Commission to be set up. It forced all Muggle-born wizards and witches to register with the Ministry. This, caused the violation of their rights to live. This, caused them to be treated as criminals and thieves._

 _They were tortured in the pretence of being interrogated as to how they 'stole' their magical power from 'real witches and wizards.' Their so-called interrogators were no longer the official ministry officers who days by days keep decreasing in numbers. The Death Eaters took glee in being in the spot light as well as not being punished for 'interrogating' their victims. There was almost no positive news about a Muggle-born who won the case of interrogation. In fact, there was none at all._

 _Dolores Umbridge, the head of the commissions, was having the time of her life._

 _After her history as the Hogwarts High Inquisitor and Headmistress, she had been suspended from doing her work for a while. Luckily however, someone finally noticed her talents._

 _It would not do to let the magical community to be corrupted by these people who tainted the pure magic by slowly stealing their power. She always knew there were something wrong with the creations of Muggle-borns, when there were cases several of them possessed a high intelligence and more talents in magic than the pure-blood wizards._

 _Thankfully she was not alone in projecting the injustice to these thieves who strive in magical power. She finally had powerful alliances who would gladly ran the prosecution as well as the 'interrogation process' for her._

 _Understandably, these thieves and criminals would of course, be send to Azkaban for their crimes._

 _She was mostly thankful to the Junior Assistant to the Ministry of Magic, Percy Weasley, - one of the few high officers still left in the building, who filed the documents of those Muggle-borns for her._

 _His works were always dependable and precise. With him processing their documents and data, the Muggle-borns were always being located easily, and in such brief period of time._

 _Dolores was just glad that Percy was not like the rest of his families who were blood-traitors; - all of them._

 _But she knew this boy, she recognised the look in his eyes, - his was the same as hers. He too, hungered for the power. So she used him._

 _Using her position as the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, she ordered Percy Weasley to locate the Muggle-borns and bring them to the Ministry, as well as accompanying them to Azkaban when they were finished._

 _._

 _George Weasley could not believe the Daily Prophet he just read. His brother's face and name were boldly printed in an article about Muggle-borns being captured and interrogated._

 _He had not seen his brother for a while. They had a rift a while ago when Percy decided to side with the Ministry instead of joining the rest of Weasleys fighting in the war. They had a bit of blood bad since then._

 _Fred was having it much worst._

 _Percy might not know this, but Fred and George, - despite always teasing him and abhor his perfect results as well as his consistently pompous attitudes, still look up to him as a reliable older brother. Fred even more so._

 _When he had turned traitorous, he caused Fred's blood boil all the time as he still could not accept the fact Percy would just abandoned them. Fred if anything, valued loyalty more than anything in the world._

 _George was not like Fred. No. Even though they were twins, he was not like him._

 _He did not continually blame Percy for his actions. Sometimes, when he had time to think about it, he understood the feeling he had for his third eldest brother was not anger, - it was bewilderment. He just did not understand what went through Percy's mind when he made these decisions. He knew Percy, he practically had lived with him since birth._

 _And Percy, was a logical person._

 _Percy, despite being rules-abiding person, knew the difference between rights and wrongs. And Percy would definitely notice after working together with that Umbridge that this movement, all things about Muggle-borns being thieves and should be punished for their crimes, was wrong. The Daily Prophet he read however, displayed the news of innocent lives being prosecuted for the crimes they did not do, and his logical brother was the person responsible for it._

 _George Weasley was afraid. It had been a long time during the war that he was truly afraid._

 _Percy, what would people say about you?_

 _._

"What do you mean?" I released my right hand from the hold Roxanne had on mine.

Roxanne did not feel disturbed by it, in fact she thought it was in my right to be mad, "There were news about it Molly. All the people during the war had seen the news, had lived during the unfairly persecution, and had witnessed his actions."

I however, just shook my head, "I never seen these articles anywhere. There is also nothing written in books about them."

"For some strange reasons," Rose interjects, "the reports about Muggle-born Registration Commission were all erased from the history books."

"But they could not do that!" I raised my voice a little higher, "It is illegal to simply erase an event from the history. And from the sound of it, it seemed to be a highly important event!"

"I know," Roxanne tried to calm me by placing a hand on my elbow, but I brushed her off, "but only a few of our generations had knowledge about it. We don't know what happened either. From what my dad told me, the reports of your daddy's involvement just disappeared, and he was glad, - truly he did. But some people still remembered Molly. Some people detest him and called him many unsightly names because of what he did during the war."

"… is this why you told me about his estrangement in first place?"

My cousins just changed a glance before Rose decided to answer me, "You need to understand, Molly. Your daddy is not perfect. He also has flaws, - and some of his actions had caused several people to lose their lives. You need to hear this first from us before you developed on your imaginations from hearing the built-up stories from the older generations. We just don't want you to be hurt."

I found myself to repeat the same question, "What do you mean?"

"They still hate your daddy for what he did, Molly," Roxanne explained patiently, "and by relation, **they might hate you too**."


	11. Chapter 11

The wheel of time continually spinning ignoring all the pleadings, the prayers, the requests from all lives for it to please… to please… _stop. Go faster. To slow down a little. To hurry. To please wait. To rush. To rewind. To please… please… go back to the time where everything is alright…_

But paying heed to any of the requests, it does not. It never did.

The wheel of time blatantly keeps on spinning, with the only mercy it gives to all lives;the promise of making full use of it.

Only then will they understand how fast their time actually is; _or how slow._ Will they appreciate the time then?

Or will they regret it?

* * *

 **.**

Oliver Wood, the official Keeper of Puddlemere United had received a letter from a hard-working hawk owl a couple of days ago.

He was holding a quill, but his mind drifted back to several years ago. When a little girl asked him about her daddy's personality and traits which he strongly knew, he could not help but think,

 **If time could turn back, there would be so many things I wish I could change.**

* * *

 ** _._**

 _"What are you doing out there, Perce? Come inside."_ Oliver Wood was looking over at the little space outside of his bedroom window, where on top of it, resided a sixth-year red-head student wearing the robe and scarf the colour of Gryffindor.

The student was startled by the sudden question and nearly fell to the ground hundred and seventy feet below, if not for his quick reactions of grabbing the building pole at his right side, "… you're back early, Ol."

"Mmm yeah," Oliver just nodded nonchalantly as this action was already a normal occurrence during his stay at the Hogwarts. He instead just began moving hands around in active gestures, "The sleazy Slytherin bastards just took our practice time in the Quidditch pitch. I intended to vent all my frustrations on you right now. Be ready, Perce. It could take a whole night to finish."

Percy Weasley instead, just gave him a look of blank, "… oh. Didn't you book the Quidditch pitch training earlier than the other teams?"

That question seemed to ignite some anger from within the young Wood, "Yeah, but then Snape somehow managed to slip his snakes into the pitch and grab our practice time. Just because that little snob cried his eyes out to his daddy to get the new Nimbus 2001 for the whole team. He got the whole team the new brooms! Would you believe that? Right now they are probably showing off by screaming and shouting on their new brooms so high in the sky, swirling around on that mighty Nimbus 2001 like they got all the skills in the world when in actually they don't! – they just got the new brooms! And I still couldn't believe that little Malfoy bastard just bought his way into the team by bribing them with new brooms. By troll's hideous toenail filled with dirt, I wish that all Nimbus 2001s were somehow cursed by the envious enemy of Malfoy when he bought them, and then the slimy Slytherins would just fall down and break their necks."

Percy appeared to be contemplating on his rambling for a little bit before voicing out, "… _Professor_ , Oliver. It's Professor Snape."

And again, the Quidditch player just waved him off, "Yeah... yeah… anyway, come back inside. It's hard talking to you like this. Isn't it freezing outside?" he talked, while peering outside the window.

The Weasley however, just kept quiet before finally let out a quiet voice, "…. Oliver, why don't you have a lunch now? I'm sure the table is already full of foods."

"Nahh…" Oliver shook his head off a little bit, "don't have the mood for foods. Didn't I say I come here to complain? So come on Perce, come inside and hear me whining."

Percy hesitated, "… I..."

"What? Suddenly you don't want to listen to me bitching anymore?" Oliver let out a jutted mouth at that.

The red-head sighed, "… Oliver, please, your language."

"You know I don't care." He shrugged. "Come on Perce, or do you want me to grab you inside? Is that how it is?" he tried to reach over with his hand, but because of Percy's position of sitting so low on the little space below, he failed to reach him.

"… I can't," Percy if possible, slumped further down on the concrete, "I can't right now, Oliver. Please... I beg of you. Just give me a little bit of time…"

"And let you freeze to death outside? Nope?" the burly sixth-year Quidditch player still tried to reach him with his hand, "Who knows what will happen to me when you are no longer here looking out over my ass…"

"… please do something about your language, Ol." Percy sighed for like the hundredth time.

His friend on the other hand, let out a soft voice, "Just grab my hand Perce. I'll grab you gently. Promise."

Finally looking up, Percy Weasley stared into his roommate's face. He seemed to be searching for something before finally decided to grab his hand and climbed up to the window, "… please don't tell them about this," he asked as he entered the room.

That request however, raised the suspicions in Oliver Wood's mind, "Is this their doing again?"

His friend then took too long time to answer, "… no."

"Right. The next practice is going to be a hard regime specially designed for them," Captain Wood gave the finality.

"… Oliver, don't." the prefect tried to dissuade him by grabbing his hand again.

"Do you want a hot cocoa, Perce? I would really use some hot cocoa right now. Let me grab some freshmen to get us the cocoa." Oliver proceed to go to the door by dragging his roommate together.

The said roommate stopped his movement, "You're not listening."

"And your hands are as cold as a deadman's hands," he deadpanned. "Really Percy, if you dare to die on me like this, - by Merlin's beard, I'm going to use the Philosopher's Stone to bring you back to life and then kill you myself." Again, the Quidditch player dragged his friend to the door and out into the common room in front of the warm embrace of fire place.

"… you are impossible, Ol."

* * *

 ** _T_ _ime_ is often took for granted. Convinced, that there will always be tomorrow, ignorant people simply let a chance,- _a moment, an event_ -, passed without regret.  
**

 **.**

 _"You look like you never knew how you actually look like."_

Startled by the sudden voice in the dorm the sixth-years Gryffindor boys stay together, the poor prefect side stepped his legs and tripped on air.

"You okay, Perce?" the origin of the voice, Oliver Wood asked after taking a bite of a chocolate muffin in his right hand, and a gulp of pumpkin juice in his left.

"Yeah.. yeah.. 'm okay. You… finish with the meeting?"

"If you count cursing and swearing the whole two hours on sleazy Snape with his greasy hair, and the fucking Malfoy with his fucking bribes of innocent brooms; then yeah, we're done. We had a great time." Licking his fingers after taking the last bite of the muffin, the captain went to sit on his own bed. "What were you looking at so hard in the mirror, anyway? Pimples?"

Percy Weasley visibly winced at some choices of language his roommate used. Dusting his robe of invisible dust, and keeping busy with helping himself up, the boy chose to ignore the question. Instead, he gathered himself and set to sit at his desk.

"… you know, Fred and George would be happy to learn their brother spend about twenty minutes in front of the mirror inspecting himself and seemed to be in a world of mesmerising with his own face."

The spectacled boy slowly took a small breath, and sighed…

"… they would also be happy to learn that the same brother had been attempting to improvise his face using some highly aesthetic magic."

"It's not like that, Oliver." and even then, Percy still had not faced the other boy, and seemed to stare hard at the scroll in front of him.

"… no? What is it then? My keeper eyes can't be wrong… though they still had not win us the Cup. . the Cup… _those damn Slytherin bastards with their damn powerful brooms... too fast… they are lucky some devil spawn bribed into their team… if we had those brooms…_ " Oliver trailed of while taking a few sips of his pumpkin juice. "… it's the third times this week, Percy. Why do you look in the mirror so much?"

A few minutes ticked by and the Keeper was sure his friend would not start answering soon, so he tried to open his mouth. "Wh…"

" …. _'m_ different…"

A whisper so faint he sure he must had imagined it, Oliver asked again, "Sorry, what?"

The other boy looked like he wanted to be at other places than there, and after struggling with his own personal war, decided to stay and humour his roommate with answer.

"… different. It's different… the colour… shape… all of it.."

Seemed to be caught into something he did not understand, Oliver asked intelligently, "… uhh?"

Percy Weasley heaved out a frustrated sigh, and the other boy could not help but be startled by the rare loud sound from his friend. The friend in question gave himself a few minutes. Enveloping himself with his own arms and pulling his legs up on the small chair by his desk, Percy Weasley slowly turned to look at the burly Quidditch captain at his bed.

"Something is wrong with me, Ol."

With a gulp of air he never knew he needed, Oliver tentatively asked, "You are?"

Inspecting his hands as if seeing them for the first time, Percy answered, "… yeah."

"Are you sick?" The question was asked jokingly, but there was a layer of concern in there.

"No," the other boy promptly answered.

Fiddling with the glass on his hands, and taking more sips off pumpkin juice, the sixth-years boy slowly question, "Then, what is?"

Another long moment of silent ensued, but the two roommates both waited patiently. Oliver Wood was no fool; though the little conversation he just had with his friend seemed mundane, but he knew it was not a simple matter. His friend, his roommate, his only partner of sixth-year Gryffindor boys had been doing it again.

It started several years ago, when sometimes he would caught his friend looking into the mirror with those eyes. Those pair of eyes that seemed to be criticizing his own self, heavily; and seemed to hate what they saw in the mirror.

Oliver Wood had been young, he lived in a loving family, and he was quite satisfied with himself. So when he caught his roommate, the only person to never ridiculing his dream of becoming the best Quidditch keeper in the history of magic since the first time they met, kept on watching his reflection on the mirror with contempt; he was startled into realisation; that there were people who would hate themselves more than anything else.

But Percy did it when he thought no one was looking, Percy did it in the few times he was left alone.

Recent years however, Oliver Wood became a member of Quidditch team. Recent years, his younger siblings started to attend the Hogwarts. Recent years, his younger siblings started to get involved with something that he hoped never exist.

In recent years Percy Weasley was left more frequently than he would like to be. Their time clashed with each other; Oliver with his Quidditch practices, and Percy with prefect duties. The prefect he became, had only adding to the differences between his younger siblings and himself. They hated the fact that he seemed to be controlling them. He wished for his siblings to be safe; they wished for him to be far away.

So in recent years, Percy Weasley was alone more frequently than he would like to be. And he had the time to inspect what made him so different from anyone else. The years continually to go forth; and Percy had spent in front of the mirror a lot more time.

 _"… what's wrong?"_ , and Oliver, upon looking at the first friend he had made at the school of Wizard and Witchcraft could not help but be concern.

Why? What's wrong? Why are you always so sad? Why do you punish yourself so hard?

What do you actually see in the mirror?

Why do you have a terrible eyebags under your eyes? Why do you have lines of worry on your face? Why are you always so tense?

Percy, are you okay?

Are you alright?

But these thoughts of concern were never out from his own mouth, he had no courage to actually questioning his friend. Oliver Wood did not know whether he would be allowed to meddle into his friend's life.

Oliver Wood did not know what to do, for a long time he did not know what to do. He felt regret sometimes, so much time was wasted on waiting for his friend to talk to him about this. A long time that he could use to help his friend to see something other than the ugly reflection the friend had formed in his mind. Oliver Wood thought he was doing something courteous by avoiding the issue and pretending he never saw the problem and always changing the topic to something else. Oliver Wood was wrong, and time was starting to prove it;

Percy Weasley had only accumulated more worry lines on his face. More tense muscles. More hate in his eyes.

He had waited too long, and now he decided no more.

"… your eyes are fine. So is your hair, your skin, your hands, your legs. You are fine, you are good enough, Perce."

"What are you talking about?"

"Isn't it what it is? You, looking into the mirror? Trying to change your face with magic."

There was a sudden rigidness in the prefect's body, his spine went straight at being confront with the sudden question, "I. Did. Not." He stressed the words by each breath.

"Yes, you are Percy. Why do you try to change? What about you is wrong?" Oliver countered the issue by coming closer to the increasingly agitated roommate. "What is wrong with your hair, what is wrong with your eyes, your face? What?"

Seemingly coming out of his defensive posture, Percy Weasley rose to full height. With a voice too calm, - too calm to be assuring- he said, "They are different."

"So, what?", at this, the spectacled boy casted his eyes downward, outwardly feeling ashamed.

"… from them. Different… from them.. I…. "

"Stop looking at your hands like that!", the sudden shout from the other boy caused Percy to look up again, "Stop looking at yourself like that! And in case you are blind, you look exactly like them." And yet at the last statement caused the prefect to frown heavily.

"It's true, Perce. You have red hair…" _"… too straight, too dark red.."_ "…freckles all over your skin…" _"… too pale… too sickly... thin unhealthy skin…"_ "… green eyes…", Percy was seen to be inhaling a little bit, _"… blue…"_ "Dammit Percy, don't bother with little things! At least you are in the same House!"

At the word 'little', the prefect casted Oliver disbelieving eyes, "… and I always wonder about that. Why Gryffindor, Oliver? I am not brave, nor am I strong. I do not approve of being adventurous. I am no fun. I am ambitious. My only companions are mountain of scrolls and books. I only rely on facts. Everything about me scream dullness. So then, why am I here? I do not fit here, Ol," silently he gave his friend pleading eyes. "… they are not 'little things'… if they were, then my siblings…" the sentence left hung as the boy closed his eyes.

The Quidditch player was having none of his friend pitying himself, so he considered he had a right to give a thought, "If you care about what other people thought, you are a weak man, Percy. Weak. And if these little things bother you so much, then it is no wonder you hate yourself."

Oliver Wood had waited enough, he had waited for a long time. Then, he decided to confront the problem immediately; too quickly that he had not properly arranged his words to be a lot less blunt and straight-forward.

Percy Weasley was not impressed, he was alarmed instead when his issue was tackled head-on with little to no warning. So doing what a startled animal being pressed into cornered side did, Percy Weasley did something not far off.

He jinxed his friend so hard, he fainted. Later when Percy Weasley took a large gulp off calming air, he looked at the result of his action. He looked at his hands.

And he hated himself a lot more.

* * *

 **If they knew how little time they actually have, if they knew how precious each second is, if they knew how each moment meant everything-, would they then understood that each uttered word is as important as time is?  
**

 **.**

 _"Go away, Perce."_

"I'm just going to sit here, Ol."

"I said go away."

"…"

There were only the two seventh-year boys in the Gryffindor' Quidditch team shower room. However only one figure was taking the shower as the other just entered the room a while ago.

"Dammit Percy! I don't have the energy to deal with you right now!" the one in the shower screamed.

The prefect however, just stood his ground outside of the shower room, "I'm not going to be bother with you. I'm just checking on Fred's and George's lockers."

That resulted a dry laugh in other boy, "Oh yeah? And then what? You're going to clean up for them? You're going to polish their locker shine so they would have more spirit going for Quidditch practices and would increase their luck into doing much better performance and maybe finally there would be no more interruptions, no more obstacles that would stop the match in the middle of the game and we were already leading, we were already winning so much, but I don't know if Merlin hates me so much but we always, always ended up just one step more to win the Cup, and dammit if that did not hurt. It hurts so much and I knew my team is good, I urged them to practice so much so that we could finally… after 6 years the last time Gryffindor held the Quidditch Cup during Charlie's era… I thought this time finally we could… I thought I was a good captain… dammit! Damn it all so much! You don't how that feel! You never got on the broom to seriously play so you don't how horrible that feeling is. You don't know anything, so don't come here trying to calm me when you don't even have a clue on the fucking shit I feel right now! Just go away Percy!"

After being silent for a while, Percy Weasley calmly said, "… you have been in the shower for an hour, Oliver."

"I don't care," was the immediate reply.

Percy then said hurriedly, "Your body might be reacting horribly being exposed to chilly water so lon…"

"I said that I don't care!" he shouted.

The Weasley sighed. He did not know what to do. He had seen how devastated Oliver looked when the dementors showed up on the pitch. He had seen how the captain was so devastated when the Hufflepuff seeker got the Snitch. His twin brothers upon spotting him, had urged him to speak to their captain to stop from drowning himself, "… please, Oliver. Let's go back to our room."

Oliver gave that horrible laugh again, "You don't understand do you, Percy? I don't need you right now. I don't want to see you right now. I don't even want to hear your voice. So why don't you just scram?"

"… I'm worry abou…" Percy tried to reason.

"Dammit Percy!" Oliver Wood suddenly screamed, "This is what makes people hate you! You don't listen when people asks you to leave them alone! You act like you know everything and try to solve them your way. You just look stupid doing that, you know. And people hate when you try to order them to do things they don't want to do. So why don't you use your pretty little head right now? People don't need you. I don't need you. You're just being noisy and disruptive in the time I needed to be alone. You are being really annoying and really, I wish you would just disappear and then maybe finally I could get some peace without being disturbed by thoughtless person who doesn't understand the need for a personal space. Maybe it would be fine if you are gone, Perce," he ended with a little bit of harsh breath.

Despite all that, Percy just calmly replied, "…you don't mean that."

And Oliver turned the faucet closed, "I hate you so much right now."

* * *

 **And then suddenly, they realised,**

 **.**

 _"I heard you had a drift with your family."_

"Hello to you too, Oliver."

"What happened, Percy?"

It was winter season, and the two nineteen-year old boys were both tired, cold, and alone in dimmed-lit bar where only the two of them and a single server were the occupants.

Percy drunk the Fire Whiskey in one shot before setting the slightly dirty glass on the counter.

"I have achieved my dream, Oliver," he smiled.

 _ **.**_

 _ **The wheel of time wait for no one; if the moment already past, then the moment already gone. And yet, there were some things carefully hidden in the fold of times; waiting to be uncurl, waiting to show the result of the time well spent. Well then, what did you tell? what did you conceal? How come your time a little bit faster? Why did my time become so slow?** _


	12. Chapter 12

_*Thank you for the reviews BookityQualityInvisibility and Phoenixx Rising :)_

* * *

 **There was the feeling of light above himself** ,

the colour of dimmed red behind closed lids, and immediately the man decided that he despised it.

There were muffled voices situated at the left bottom of him, -the sound made incoherent by his mind ability which was yet able to process the language-, but the feeling of urgency was unmistakable. _Wake up,_ he told himself, _Open your eyes._

He could not. For the life of him, he could not even manage to move the small muscles on his face. So he did the what he could at the moment, - twitching his fingers, no, they were hard as statue; testing his voice, the airways betrayed him, there was something in there; kicking his legs, they were as heavy as lead.

The man considered himself to be in the state of paralysed, and willed firmly not to panic. _What's the next best decision?_

* * *

 **In the world of magic, it did not matter if a person did not have a good physique, -Magic, depends more on the soul.**

The man, upon realising that he was of not yet dead, understood that whatever happened he must not be caught unaware, - although that already happened-, because what he had with him was important information that must never, ever come to light without his permission. To protect that information, he needed to know the surrounding situation to plan a way of breaking away.

It was slow, but with the urgency of voices beside him, he forced the magic to come quickly. First, to recover his hearing ability… he focussed to centre the collective magic from inside his body to the body parts he intended; the motion was intense, sweats were breaking out on his forehead and his hands had turned clammy, his back was already drenched wet, and he abhor the fact that he was currently incapable of moving, for he was unable to relieve the uncomfortable feeling behind his neck. He could feel a nasty migraine coming up and going to affect him for two to three days straight; and he tried to let out a breath of frustration but even the simple movement was beyond him. It was hard doing magic without a physical object to focus the energy on, yet he forged forward, - and amplify his hearing using a magic…

"…een going for three weeks," the man was struck motionless, -though he was already unmoving-; it was unmistakable, it was his own voice he was hearing from the bottom left of himself. The man began put together any possible scenarios that would lead to this," There were some suspicions, but quickly dealt with. Really, I am somewhat amazed how he could manage himself… the work of three people… I nearly break down in the middle of the work… it was exhausting…" the voice trailed off.

"Who are they?" the order snapped the man out from his musing,

"Pardon?" he asked.

The order repeated himself with barely supress frustration,

"Who are they? The suspicions you said?"

Seemingly catching up to the undertone of the order, he quickly informed, "His secretary, basically. The Finnigan began to suspect when the other day 'Burman' forgot that he was temporarily him and went around relieving muscle tenses out of his office. Around two or three of his subordinates witnessed the scene, but 'Burman' quickly rewrite their memories when he finally caught up to the mistake of his decision. He decided to keep Finnigan as he was, to supply proofs that recently he was under a lot of stress. But even more, the Prime Minister is now keeping a close watch on him. Said 'we' had some problems. The work performances have been declining…"

The man currently paralysed on what he presumed an infirmary bed, could feel a vibrate of anger coming out from the other man standing not far from the person he suspected was now disguising as him; with strings of colourful curses coming out of his mouth, he barked, "What the hell had Burman been thinking?! This could undo all the hard work we had done! And what the fuck have you people been doing? You know it was no simple mission, yet you seem to be failing every single aspect of his work ethics. You got the Prime Minister himself on 'his' tail!"

* * *

 **The statement caused the paralysed man's thought process to halt.**

Then slowly, like a set of gears turning slowly on his mind, -and then being fed by a trickle of lubrication little by little bit-, the gears started to move faster; his mind began to twice, -no, _trice_ , loaded with thought of tenths, hundreds of possibilities of new plans and strategies to undo all the errors that had been done to his work.

 _This would not do_ , he was meant to lay low. The constant work ethics that he enforced on the minds of all ministry workers should enable him to be out of suspicious thoughts. He was meant to be the Deputy Minister who hold unquestioning support to a Prime Minister; he was meant to be a poster worker to how a minister officer should be. People already viewed him as a hard-working man, fully devoted himself to the Ministry of Magic that there were no questions when he sometimes double checked, or triple checked the works of many departments in the Ministry. He was known as a meticulous Deputy Ministry, and he had been doing a careful job at being able to trifle through the lines of orders, -and sometimes subtly intercepts, or insert suggestions and methods instead into the orders-, without it seemed like he was controlling the inside work of Ministry and being practically more powerful than the Prime Minister himself.

It was during a fortnight after the Battle of Hogwarts, he was sitting awkwardly at the dining table, surrounded by family members who were not entirely welcoming his presence back in their childhood home, but being considerate to the matriarch of the family who dearly choked in her tears the need of sense of closeness after many loses they had endured in duration of war. Her wish was partially granted, when one of her son locked himself in the room he once shared with his twin, another brother was off doing curse-breaking jobs out of important buildings, and the patriarch of the family was hardly seen with the constant incomings and goings of the 'secret' members of the Order in the small house shared by the ever-growing members family.

The Chosen One chose to stay with his family and refused to return to the house his godfather once resided, -not when he did not want to part with the small babe he hold awkwardly in his arms, - _the only connection he had to what was remained of his father and his essentially brothers' legacy_ , the babe changing the colours of his hair as he pleased. The man's younger brother and sister seemed content with staying as far away as possible from their older brother; and the two siblings, together with the chosen one, and a brunet bush-haired girl crowded together at the opposite side of his table, chatting amiable among themselves. Only his older brother sat on his side, with two chairs in between.

He had been feeding himself with a warm soup not heating up the inside of his heart, when his oldest brother poofed out from inside of the Floo Network, -collecting a cloud of ashes in their living room in the process-, together with two of his, _-the man assumed_ -, co-workers, - _they were wearing the same uniforms_ , and a man who held himself firmly with a confidence of a war-hardened veteran and eyes of a wise-man. His spoon stopped midway to his mouth, the man's eyes widened slightly in quick motion as he recognized the wizard in millisecond he landed his eyes on him, -this is no ordinary wizard, he thought. The soup was no longer appetizing to him.

 _Why is he here_ , -the man began to question from inside of his mind but seeing the way the wizard only set his eyes on him, -unwavering-, the man put two on two together; _and it clicked._

He had been the last standing high-ranking Ministry official after the war just ended; the wizard before him had resigned the day the Ministry of Magic fallen to the Death Eaters, Scrimgeour had been murdered, Umbridge had been sentenced to a life-time in Azkaban, and the rest of the high-ranking officials were either resigned, subverted under the Dark Lord, or murdered in cold blood. He then became the only Ministry official who knew the spells and curses to unlock the Ministry building that had shut itself closed in automatic defence when only a few high-ranking Ministry officials remained.

His oldest brother had looked him in his eyes, - _a gesture so rare in few times they were in the same room together_ -, had directly addressed his name in a childhood familiarity that the man started to feel his heart a little bit constrained, "..Perce..", _it had been a long time_ , he thought. He briefly glanced to what remains of his family members, _it had been a very long time;_ closing his eyes for a second, he dropped his spoon gently on the side of his bowl, and move slightly to his right to face his brother who seemed to be in clinch; and accompanied by the companions the brother brought together, he began to tell his purpose to the man.

* * *

 **The man was the key to one building they could not break into.**

 _The man knew this._

He knew they would come, he just did not expect _who_ they would be. He himself had told his masked companions to lay low and blending themselves back in society, to weed out the followers of the Dark Lord who remained hidden under the mask of normality; among the wizards and witches who celebrating the downfall of the dark era, being camouflaged into the oblivious crowd, waiting for a moment to strike back.

The man had waited patiently; he had waited for the someone who cared about the regularities in post-war to find him; he had waited for someone who wishes to settle the panic society fallen into when they lost sense of the hierarchy of leadership, _\- they had been control by fear for so long-_ to find him; he had been waiting for someone to be the figurehead and the symbol of Ministry to find him, so he not needed to be.

He would not be the focus of their sight; he refused to be when they had known him as the wizard who betrayed their own kind and handed them on silver platter to the High Inquisitive of 'Mudblood' extermination. Although that matter had been straightened out among the influential figures, and the people were told to keep the matter in hush; it did not erase the fact that they were still wary of him. The feeling of distrust and cynicism directed towards him was very pronounced when just two weeks ago, -during the Battle of the Hogwarts-, some witches and wizards, _especially the ones who were Muggleborns_ ; directly throw curses and jinxes towards him with the same ferocity they would towards a Death Eater.

 _There were Killing Curses among them._

The man had been living in his family home since then; sometimes locking himself in his own room for days when he knew the atmosphere would turned awkward when he was there with family members he had abandoned for three years. They said he was a coward. They said he was hiding himself.

But the man could not bring harm to himself, he could not live alone after the war; the people were getting powerful, they were getting confidence with the sweet freedom from the clutches of the Death Eaters and their Lord. With a newly found independence, they would seek justice to his actions during the time of darkness. _And they would not show any mercy._

The man could not fall. What the man had with him was knowledges that would bring the society of Magic back in order.

Hence, he waited until someone thought he was important enough; he would be granted protection, until they think they could get anything out of him no more.

The man did not expect the search for him would come in just two weeks; he expected them to pretend that one Junior Assistant to the Ministry of Magic did not exist, he expected them to use whatever resources and Curse-breaks to get into the Ministry building to regain the control, he expected them to have much bigger pride and refuse the aid from a supposed 'traitor'.

And they expected of him to only had the access to the entry.

* * *

 **How wrong they were.**

He continued to have the protection from the grudging Aurors; they had to admit that he knew the layout of the building explicitly like it was written on the back of his hand, and they needed his help when some layouts had been changed _, -or damaged_ -, when it had turned into the Death Eaters' playground.

Then they,- _the-would-be Ministry of Magic, witches and wizards with intentions of being the new Ministry Officers_ -, realised that there were problems with documents being misplaced, or part of the information gone missing together with the officers who had fled or been murdered _._ So again, they turned to him. And he proved to be a valuable asset; he had hold pieces of information they had lost, he knew his way around the papers.

To add to the unwillingness of the Ministry officers, the man also had history working in Department of International Magical Cooperation, and during the time Barty Crouch Jr. had impersonated as his father, the man had practically run the department by himself. Consequently, he was the only person left to have few connections personally with foreign Ministry of Magics. They needed his help. His connections were important to develop ally with foreign countries, in order to empower their tragic economic state, to stabilize the rate of Sickles and Galleons, and to give aid should there be problems with another case of Dark Lord.

With his contribution and knowledge, he was welcomed back _albeit_ grudgingly into the rank of the Ministry officers. With the intention of stricken his involvement directly in higher authorities of the Ministry, they gave him the role of an officer in Department of Magical Transportation.

Two months later, they had to raise his rank to the Secretary of the Department because of his excellent paper-workings. Not a month last, and his Head had to admit that he was inferior to the man's profesionalisme in handling the issues in the Department. He became the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation for few months, before the Administrative Registration Department seek his help for his knowledge of the 'missing' wizards' and witches' whereabout. He was forced to change departments not too long after; _-he had become a major member of Administrative Registration Department and in charge of the new procedures in locating their people-,_ before he was also hunted by Investigation Department; in order to give insight and tracking down the dark wizards and witches who might be the followers of the Dark Lord.

The insistent of the foreign Ministry of Magic officers to deal with familiar face however, forced the man to be the figurehead when they were called to have a face off.

He should had collapsed; the man had been struggling with leading the new procedure of locating their people in the Administrative Registration Department as well as Investigation Department, and became the some-times-figurehead in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, - _they were running him thin since the few months they had had him back in the building_ -, he was supposed to collapse over what with his deep participation in various departments in the Ministry of Magic, and they should expect to see resentment and weariness from his face.

But his face betrayed none.

He was patient however, and he decided to give them a few months more. And then finally, - _with conflict of heart among the officers,_ he was granted entrance into Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

* * *

 **"They were trying to rewrite the Ministry from the scratch. I will be the one to help them write it."**

The time working under two Ministry of Magics enable the man to gain access to some information hidden from public view. He was introduced intimately to the proceeding of the Acts when it was written under the two separate Ministries. He knew the politics behind it, what to do and what not to do, to gain support from everyone around. The man knew his way of words, knew how to please, how to agitate and how to plant ideas in someone's mind.

It was with no doubt; the man was elected to be one of the Councils to write the Acts for the new era of Magic.

* * *

 **The man made no mistake in believing that his people forgave him.**

No. He knew that majority of them still could not fathom the idea that he was free, and was in the high-position in Ministry. They did not even understand why he would not be apprehended for his grievous offenses. And Merlin's beard, they refused to understand.

His works on the other hand, made the more rational of his people to close one eye to what he had done during the war. They could not deny that his involvement in the authorities had caused their society to advance miles away. Their administrative process had taken to a new level under his lead, the economics had shown a significant growth even before the reign of the Dark Lord. Even their involvement with the foreign countries had been in positive, as there were several Aid Foundations from their neighbour countries been disclosed to the public.

They could see their world was changing.

* * *

 **"But now, these people were going to ruin it."**

A carefully released breath of sigh grabbed his attention once more, - _and_ he forced himself to focus.

"What of his brothers?"

The other 'him' audibly gulped, "… the youngest brother saw 'Perry' once, but they just exchanged simple greetings…" and 'he' let the sentence dragged off for a few seconds. The other man was having none of it, of course, "What else?" he finally let shown that he was not a patient person.

"… he was asking about family gatherings," the voice was heard to contain a little bit of nervousness, "…would 'we' be there, he asked …and 'Pe…' …'Perry' just answered he was not sure… the brother was… was… _displeased_ with that answer…," at this, the paralysed man could feel his heart sunk, "…the mother has been sending owls.." and he felt heaviness starting to settle in his heart.

 _How long ago have I…_

His thought was cut short however when the next question was asked, "The wife? Daughters?"

And he could feel his heart skipped a beat.

"Came twice this week." _This week? What of previous weeks?_ "We have been giving the same excuse each time. Said we have been attending the meetings with foreign ministry. The daughter… cried this morning…."

The man was struck shocked. _Lucy cried? They have made Lucy cried? How dare they…_

Distracted by the fact his precious daughter cried in his absence, the man cut off the magic from his ears, and lost the rest of conversations involving him.

" _They_ have been coming too, -knew something is wrong," a pause, a tense atmosphere "been demanding conference at the _place,_ " and there was a definite tightness of muscles of the impersonating man.

It was a moment of silent, before the other man could only gave a gruff reply, "There is still no response from him, no movements, _none_." He seemed to be grumbling something, before admitting to his companion, "We can't give any answers, - if something went wrong when we represent him, then we could only pray to Merlin to save us," with careless roughness, he dragged his hands over to rub his face, and it showed how weary he felt.

A sudden ' _thud'_ signified his companion had settled on nearby chair, "Until how long must we do this?" and he too, placed his heavy head into his palms.

"I don't know," was the muffled reply from behind the hands.

A fear was invoked from that statement, as a small voice quietly asked, "What if he never awakens? What then?"

Taking his hands off his face, the other man gave a hardened expression. And he declared, **"Then we better pray we all die a merciful death."**


	13. Chapter 13

**Fire, is not like the other elements. It does not belong in any group that would easily classified its nature. It is never a liquid, nor solid, but it is not even a gas. Element such as fire is mind-boggling at best.**

 **It is warm, and yet when it burst….**

* * *

I would say Daddy is like the element, as what his hair presented, a shade darker than any others, and yet still shine brightly. A shade like fire…

* * *

Dear Molly,

I'm sorry I keep this letter short. I thank you for your last letter about Hogwarts though. It was nice.

Mo-y, so _ **me-g i- -ro**_ ng _**wi-**_

I _**h-**_ e a b- _**fee-**_ g

Molly, this letter is about Daddy.

Maybe I should tell you about this sooner, more than a week ago. But I thought it was the normal him. But how could it be. I was stupid.

-lly, _**I'm**_ s-aed.

Molly, firstly I thought it was because of his works. Maybe he was just tired.

But it's not, _**an-**_ I _**d-'t**_ kn- -at -o _ **do.**_

Th- is -ot -i _ **m**_. I ha- the -l _ **ings** _since cou- days -ef _ **ore**_ , this is no- _**h**_ -.

Molly, what should I do?

Momma just quietly accepted this change, she accepted that daddy is acting strange -ut it's _**n-**_ t I'm s- c- _ **nf**_ u _ **-**_ -y ev-one -ro _ **und**_ acc- _ **t**_ wh-ver -his _**ma-**_ is.

-ho _**th**_ \- -ell i- _**h**_ -?

Whe- -d _ **dy**_?

He rarely came back home nowadays.

He is much quieter.

One day Momma tried to talk to him about it, but he just refused to meet with us.

Th- is n- - _ **im**_

I- -ar _ **ed**_

I don't know what to do. When will you come back?

P/s: Reply to me ASAP.

Lucy.

* * *

It was not the letter that I expected, definitely not. And I tried to read past scratches and blotches of ink that deliberately covered some words.

And when I managed to link the few words I abled to decipher, I felt my heart gripped in tight rein, - _What in the world is going on? -_ forcing it to freeze and spreading coldness all around my body.

It was a letter I never expected. To read about Lucy being terrified.

Lucy, the bravest of us two siblings, the much rumbustious and boisterous sister to the point of being the unlikely spawn of the Weasley pranksters.

Yet the evidence is clear in a tear-soaked letter with unruly writing in my hand.

And this is the second letter from my family member that send me into thinking, ' _What had I've done'_

Is it my fault?

Is it because I delved too deeply into the past that my daddy unwilling to enclose?

The owl of which Lucy rent still sat patiently by the window sill in the dorm I shared with four others first years Ravenclaws.

My energy had depleted from reading the thing it send me. It let out a soft clicking noise, and poised its left leg out, asking for a reply.

I stared at it tiredly, mind muddled with several thoughts that yet to be answered. I gave it a listless stare and reply to it with a worn-out shaking of my head.

Even the treats for the messaging owl in the side table drawer is not managed to be brought out to it.

I get up, go to the bird. Push the owl gently away, and shut all the windows.

It is a Saturday afternoon, naturally the sky is bright with sunlight pouring out at the peak of the horizon, and with it, is heat.

I think that it is too warm, and I miss someone with hair and smiles that emits warmness.

* * *

 **Fire, when controlled, would provide convenience to any other creatures.**

.

McGonagall had heard about the news. One of the masked companion had contacted her about it two nights ago. They contacted her late, might be because they did not want to draw the attention to themselves, what with the messenger being someone from the Ministry.

The _head_ is down, and she not know what to do about it.

Never in her entire life would she came out blank with thoughts. Not even the Dumbledore's death from the tower years ago. Because this is something different. This is something that involving the other magical communities that ever exist in every nations.

 _The head_ had even involved in the last war. That was the reason Dumbledore left her with a relieved smile days before his death.

The fate of British Magical communities relies heavily in the hand of a young head. She first fought hard with the ideas that Dumbledore seemed to appreciate every little thought _the head_ had given in each discussions they held. She was even more mortified when she learned that nobody would know about his involvement other than the three people and seven more masked companions scattered around the nation.

It was an implausible idea to rely on the thought of someone twice, _no trice,_ younger than her age, moreso Dumbledore's age.

Yet each and every time, when at the end of the meeting the plan more inclined to the thought of the young mind, she could not help but agreed to the organization that had made the perfect choice.

The young head that she taught, -a lone Weasley much differ than the rest of his clan.

And now that head, _that man_ is down.

.

 _20 years ago,_

 _Minerva McGonagall had her fair share in the leadership of the Orders during the first war with the Dark Lord. She was a witch with wit big enough to challenge The Professor, the wise wizard of her time, Albus Dumbledore, in a debate should she find some of his decisions were rather questionable. It was not doubt she would again, share the same responsibilities during the second war.  
_

 _Yet at that moment, she rather agreed to let loose her disagreement when she was finally granted into the access of Regulus' room, and was met with another pairs of eyes not own by the Professor himself._

 _A spectacled red head, being rather comfy with himself she observed, - by his way of sitting cross-legged on the bed and holding a cup of tea in his hands, sipping slowly. Like it was rather ordinarily event to get into one secretive room no other Order members were allowed to peek in._

 _Minerva felt herself making a fool still standing in front of the closed door, not moving an inch, eyes glued to the person since she first land eyes on him. Yet, he replied by giving her a pleased smile as if knowing she would showed up that day._

"Ah Minerva, please, have a seat," _was the voice of the man that she was ready to scream at, the Dumbledore himself._

 _She forced herself to pull from the incomprehensible sight, and turned a little bit to the left where the Professor, -another incomprehensible wizard-, who also sitting comfortably in an old armchair, sporting a cup of tea of his own and sipping calmly, "_ … Albus, may I have a word with you please?"

 _The professor looked up and kindly gave her a smile," Certainly_ , Minerva! Speak! Speak."

 _The young red head also showed his eagerness to hear to her talk when he finally put the tea cup away on the side desk, and turned to give her his full attention._

 _"…_ alone _."_

 _She practically could feel disappointments seeped into the room by way of heavy atmosphere the two persons emitted upon hearing her request._

 _Never would she imagine there was another person almost the exact presence of one headache-inducing Albus Dumbledore._

"Certainly, Minerva. Anything for you… anything for you…" _with that, the professor casted spells that engulfing only their persons in a space that would allowed not even a sound escape, -by creating a large glass wall. With a thoughtful mind, he also casted spell that created another comfy armchair, with a cup of tea on the side table.  
_

 _"…_ a _glass_ wall?", _McGonagall delicately raised her left eyebrow, showing her skepticism towards the Professor's choice of how to separate themselves perfectly from other's presence, which she could still observe the red-headed teen picking up his tea cup through the 'wall of separation' he created.  
_

 _Slowly blowing into his no longer scorching tea, the man opposite of her answered in between sips,_ "Perfect, for when we could still, observe the outside surroundings, yet the people around us, will just assumed we had disappeared," _and smiled a knowing smile._

 _Like a one way mirror? she thought as she recollect the events when she was in a muggle's town, and being rather amazed by the creations._

"...this is rather new _," Minerva had to admit, the combinations of the spells would make their conversations became entirely private and convenience to observe the reactions of outside people._

"I learned them four days ago," _and with a face seemingly beamed of pride, Dumbledore gave her twinkled eyes as if being secretive about something._

 _Minerva's heart froze. It was that boy, - with creative genes in his blood. She wondered why she bothered to be surprised._

"Why is **he** here?" _without waiting a moment, she immediately accused._

 _And without missing a beat, Dumbledore replied,_ "I invited him."

 _It was immediate, and replied with a rather short answer that provided no more further explanation. She thought to wait for a few moments. Yet, the face of the Professor expecting her to ask more questions._

 _Exhausted, the witch could only take extra inhalation, put off the need to rub her forehead and instead arranging sentences in her mind that would gain her clear answers,_ "And why is a young member here, if I may know? From your message, I was lead to believe that this is a meeting among the leaders, Albus."

"Because he is," _the Professor gave her_ another _set of short answers, along with his usual twinkled eyes._

 _I need Firewhisky, the witch decided._

 _She however, took another breath and tried to express herself patiently to the wizard,_ "… and I told you, a young member is not welco…"

"A leader," _the sudden answer cut into her sentence._

 _She did a double take,_ "Pardon, Albus?"

 _And the professor just gave her a smile so serene like he would chide a child, "_ You hear me, Minerva. Percy is not our member, he is but, a leader."

 _The tone of voice graved a little bit at her nerve, but she swallowed it down and pressed on to a more urgent issue,_ "You meant to say, he is the connection to the _masked companions_."

 _With a sage nod that McGonagall could only watch in growing horror, the wizard proclaimed,_ "I believed you understand well now, Minerva."

 _But she did not, she could never understand this. About how all of these were even real._

 _When Albus Dumbledore let down the glass wall separating the three participants in the secretive room, Minerva McGonagall could only watch in dismay when a young Percy Weasley gave a tiny wave and a shy smile in their directions._

 _And she wondered whether she instead needed two bottles of Firewhisky._

* * *

 **Fire, when left unrestrained, would engulf everything within reach.**

.

Professor McGonagall had observed the young girl with red haired, who seemed to be out of place in her own house, when all the other red headed resided in the House of Gryffindors. The little girl reminded her of another red-headed, years ago, tall lanky body with awkward limbs and pale freckled skin. With hair looking much fierier like a living flame, walking around the ground of Hogwarts, seemingly lost and not knowing who to reach.

A brilliant young boy, with eyes that speak louder about a desperation to escape something.

The young boy intrigued her, made her wondered about his situations within his seemingly friendly big family. Why is he looking so displaced?

Yet the same boy also emitted some presence that prevents others from delving too deeply into his life. He protected himself. He surrounded himself with a wall.

He developed a proud persona,

working hard into being a prefect, so he could feel proud, and nobody would questions if he demands or lord the others according to the rules in school.

With a false pretense of seemingly proud being praised for his brilliancy, the boy hide the little pain he felt from being isolated and discarded by his siblings and peers, if he did not insist to delve into their business,- _in the name of prefect duty_ -, and taking care that nothing would go so far, and nothing would go so wrong, then she sure they would even forget that he existed.

Minerva McGonagall had observed him to his last seventh years in school, -and she could not help but to compare him to other generations around his age.

There were too little members in his years, _the reasons McGonagall knew too well._

Yet, he was the most affected by the reasons.

McGonagall could not help but felt dishearten each time she observed a post-war child, walking around the school, seemingly not realized that his war already over.

.

The night of Albus Dumbledore' funeral, McGonagall had went through the Principles' office, looking for any clues the old professor might left them.

She did that for days, which turns into weeks, and entering two months, she almost gave up.

One night when she plundered the office silently on the verge of giving up, a soft sigh was heard. It was from the very right of the line of Headmaster's portraits.

A witch, with a withering face and sharp eyes stared directly at her. Minerva did not know what to do, she never converse to any Headmasters before, choosing instead to ignore all the blabbering upon being angered she had entered the office with no right.

Yet this one portrait, had never uttered a sound before, so she was momentarily baffled by the soft sigh.

After sharing enough eye contact with the ancient witch, Minerva discarded it as nothing and went on continuing with her search.

The witch, the first headmaster of Hogwarts, Phyllida Spore, let out a disappointed sigh again.

Feeling enraged that her hard efforts being discard, Minerva decided to confront the witch then.

"... esteemed Dame Phyllida Spore, it seems like you have something to tell me?"

The portrait took couple more minutes to study her thoroughly, and seemed to enjoyed the fact that McGonagall only grew displeased as seconds ticked by with no words.

"... if you please, would you tell me about it already?", the professor tried to regain her composure by tightly gripping her hands together, and standing much straighter with a pursued mouth.

The portrait gave off a pleased smile.

 _"I'm surprised you finally asked, little witch."_

It was a voice not so feminine, more hoarse to the point the person never drink a water or use her own voice in long time. Yet the voice sounded so dignified, and ancient,- that McGonagall could not help the shiver running behind her neck.

"... had.. _cough*.._ Pardon me. Had Albus Dumbledore left something in this office?"

The portrait made a show of deliberately observing everywhere,- _slowly,_ and finally staring back at her.

 _"It is as you see, little witch."_

This is not going to be easy, she thought. The witches and wizards of the past tended to be so proud that asking a favor out of them almost deemed impossible. But she was not the type to back off.

"Esteemed Spore, it would be a great honour if you would, unveil something that Albus Dumbledore had left specifically. It would lead to another list of things people would remember you of, when you had a helping hand to something that would help us greatly."

She even made sure to bow a little bit, while still maintaining a bit of pride in her posture.

This act seemed to pleased the First Headmaster a little bit, as her eyes somehow managed to shine with delight.

 _"Little witch knew how to use her mouth, I see."_ Professor McGonagall had to contain herself very hard not to lash out or twitch each time she heard the phrase _little witch._

This act also pleased the Headmaster very much.

 _"Very well then, there is something..."_

 _._

.

McGonagall found a vial containing some green substance. The vial was hidden in the small red rune the size of a pea behind the portrait, which came to life when she poured a sufficient amount of her magic on it. Thankfully, she managed to grab the vial before it crashes down.

The green substance inside, upon closer inspection, was indeed Albus Dumbledore's memories. The vial was actually a small version of Pensieve, decorated with runes and magic to contain the memories until certain time. Seeing these two inventions, Minerva could not help but again yearn to inspect a certain red-headed's brain, to see how his mind works.

.

The first memories she countered upon putting them into much larger Pensieve and delving herself into it, was the memories of the Professor in his office, with Percy Weasley already in his Ministry attire, inspecting Fawkes and patting its feathers softly with his back on both of them.

"Tell me Albus,"

 _Albus? Minerva thought. He already called him Albus this early?_

"...did the Death Eater truly dispersed when Voldemort was defeated by the hand of an infant years ago?

* * *

 **I'll continue later. sorry**


End file.
